


These Ending Days

by ice_hot_13



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes up recognizing nothing, himself included. (written ages ago, posted for archiving purposes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Sam wakes up, he has no idea where he is. There's just white, the ceiling and the walls and the sheets. There's a window, and the shades are drawn, but they look more like shutters, and there's a lock on them. (Weird thing number one). There are machines beeping at his bedside, and one looks like a heart monitor, making rhythmic beeping noises. It's too fast, though, about four times too fast. (Weird thing number two). There's also an IV stand, but the liquid inside it is a dark, metallic silver, nearly black. (Weird thing number three). Sam follows the tube that looks like a cable, down to his arm.

It takes about two seconds before he realizes he has no idea  _who_ he is, either.

The heart rate monitor starts beeping wildly, at least twice as fast as it's four-times-too-fast rate, and Sam spares a moment to wonder if he's going to die from his heart giving out, or from the fact that  _there's a metal panel in his arm._

Four seconds later, the door into the room opens and a man in a doctor's coat hurries over to his bedside.

"Calm down, Sam," he says, strangely metered tones, in Sam's opinion, seeing as there's  _hardware_ in  _flesh_ here _._ "You're perfectly okay. Relax."

"Do you  _see_ this?" Sam blurts, holding up his wrist. The doctor nods, smiles.

"Of course. I put that there." This placates Sam enough that the monitor slows back to its too-fast-sounding rhythm of before. Having been assured he's not on the brink of death, Sam turns his gaze from the doctor to the panel. It's replacing the skin of the inside of his wrist, an almost-black metal, and the IV is plugged into it. He turns his wrist slowly- it's not just on the inside, it's like his wrist has been taken away and replaced with-

"What's going on?" Sam chokes, closing his eyes so he can't see the metal.

"Do you remember?" the doctor says mildly, and Sam shakes his head no.

"Is there any more of- of that?" he manages.

"Some. Small skin grafts." The doctor says. Sam opens his eyes reluctantly to see the doctor point to his other arm, still beneath the sheets. Sam pushes himself up, draws his arm from the blankets. The back of his hand has a square of metal, and there's a strip up the inside of his wrist. "There's more, mostly on flat planes of skin. Your legs, back of your shoulders, some of your chest. Your wrist is the biggest section, for the intravenous access." Sam just nodes, feels faint.  _What is going on?_ he wants to beg this doctor who's acting like Sam knows this already, like Sam even knows where they are, like they've already met.

"But  _why?"_ he pleads, and that's when the doctor goes silent.

o0o

"Puh- _lease?"_ Bee begs again, but the man in front of the door shakes his head no. Ironhide seemed to have crafted the image of his human holo with the intent of blocking doors in mind. Broad shoulders, defined arms crossed over his chest, stern face. He probably took a lesson or two in appearances from the military men they share this city with, what with his short, dark hair and ironed-looking clothes. Bee himself had no such example for his own human holo; in fact, Ironhide didn't have much of a choice in his, either, come to think of it. The holo program is an attempted projection of what they'd be like human; they can choose, but it feels unnatural. Ironhide's program guessed him to be older than Bee, more like Will's age, while Bee is closer to-

"Please!" he begs again, desperation racing, but Ironhide shakes his head no.

"You heard him."

"Yeah, I did. But.  _Please?_ "

"No."

"This isn't  _fair,_ Hide!" Bee looks up at the looming building Ironhide is blocking the entrance to; the hospital is one of the oldest structures in the city, first built, but first renovated each go-around. Bee has been assured of this countless times- it's the best, Ratchet is the best,  _he's going to be fine._

But it's been taking so long. So impossibly  _long._ Bee had come to the brink of giving up exactly seventeen times, but he's never given up entirely, because despite all the hopelessness surrounding them, at the center of it,  _he's still here._

And then, this morning, sensors starting going off, sensors that hadn't been active in so long.

"Please, please, please, please," Bee whimpers, "I just-"

"You heard Ratchet," Ironhide says firmly, "wait. He's stabilizing." He gives Bee that look that's mirrored on so many faces so often:  _will_ _ **you**_ _live to see him?_

"But…" Bee exhales slowly, looks up at the blank face of the building again. He picks a window, decides that's the one. In reality, the room is changing as frequently as the procedures do, but right now, Bee decides to cling to the sight of that one. The blinds are closed, which makes it a possibility that it's the right room. The window is always closed, the shades always drawn, so he can't see the world outside. Bee can't see what's happening inside the rooms, he'd willingly trade this outside world for that one.

 _You can't,_ Ratchet has said frequently,  _you can't see him now._ There were reasons, always reasons- infection, immune system, instability, the three I's, as Bee has come to call them, with their ghost fourth,  _I, I want to see him._ Bee has been allowed in before, just not as frequently as he'd like. When he can, it's always silent and still. He'll just stand there for ages, and sometimes he talks, talks like someone is really listening, but sometimes, he can't say anything, sometimes he just cries.

"Please," Bee whimpers, and Ironhide goes to say no again, but pauses. Then he smiles, and Bee wants to sob from happiness; Ratchet has finally contacted Ironhide.

"Ratchet says you can," he informs Bee, and Bee's already up the stairs and halfway down the hallway before he hears Ironhide call, "for the love of Primus, Bee, just reform your holo in the room!" Bee ignores this, and sprints the last stretch of hallway to the fourth door from the end on the left. He pounces on the handle and yelps in pain when the door doesn't budge. Locked.  _Locked? What happened? What?_ his thoughts start howling, when Ratchet comm's him.

[Third floor, 319] Ratchet says, [and Bee-]

[There in a second,] Bee replies, and this time, forgoes all the running and just reforms his holo outside the correct door. This time, it gives easily.

"Sam!" Bee cries, ignoring whatever it is that Ratchet's trying to comm him. Sam looks so weak and small in the hospital bed, curls tousled and eyes confused, and it's such a relief to finally see him awake, finally-

"Who- uh-?" Sam stammers, and Bee hates himself for the worry that sneaks onto Sam's face. Bee freezes, three feet from Sam's bedside.

"You don't remember me," he stammers, looks to Ratchet, begging for him to  _make this right,_ because Sam can't have forgotten, he can't have. "But- you can't, you  _can't-"_ Bee whispers, but Sam just looks down. Bee knows this look, Sam's drowning himself in guilt right now, because he can't remember. Bee wants to comfort him, to assure him it's okay- but it's not, it's not, not at all.

Bee runs out of the room, and it's not until he hits the staircase that he remembers this is unnecessary, and he just dissolves his hologram so it's like he was never there at all.

In Sam's memory, he never was.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam," the doctor says slowly, tone metered with a wavering patience, "do you remember Bumblebee?"

"Bumblebee?" Sam draws in a sharp breath, "oh, no, no, no, what do you mean, do I  _remember_ him? What happened to him? Is he- did he-" the heart rate monitor starts racing again, wailing beeping noises. The doctor holds up a hand, seems to breathe a sigh of something like relief.

"He is perfectly fine. You remember him, correct?"

"Bee? Of  _course_ I remember Bee!" Sam forces himself to breathe slowly, in and out calmly. "Where is he? Can I see him? Please? How long have I been out? Oh, God, has it been more than a week? Because Miles would kill me if I skipped out on his weekly swimming thing- but, I want to see him. Bee, I mean. Please?"

The doctor looks at him, frowns a little, like he doesn't know where to start, what to say at all.

"It's been a lot longer than a week," he finally says. He draws a chair over from the corner, sits at Sam's bedside. Sam studies him in a quick glance, but he still doesn't look at all familiar. Maybe he's a military doctor. "Do you remember me?"

"Uh… no."

"And the one who just left, you don't remember him either?" he asks, and Sam shakes his head no.

"I think… did he know me?" The doctor doesn't answer this, just studies Sam's face with eyes that seem too blue, ink-like inconsistency, no shades at all.

"Then we'll start there. You know me as an Autobot, but don't seem to remember my holo form."

" _Ratchet?"_ Sam breathes, incredulous, and then, almost at the same time, he's choked into silent. "That guy, that was just here- was- was he a bot too?"

"Slow down," Ratchet- Sam would never have known this was him, not in a hundred years- gives him a stern look. Maybe Sam would have recognized him sooner if the bot had given him that all-too familiar look. "Let's start with your other question. All right?" Sam just nods, fingertips of one hand skittering over the metal square in the back of the other. _Ratchet will explain all this,_ he thinks vaguely,  _he knows everything, after all._ "It has been much longer than a week. Do you remember what happened with the Allspark?" Sam nods again. It's all there- the desert, the guns, the Decepticons. "And how you woke up, although we were sure you'd been killed." Again, he nods, although he doesn't recall this part as clearly. To him, it felt like waking up after passing out, not dying in any sense.

"Yeah. What, did I pass out again?"

"Not quite. Remember, how to us, it appeared as if you had died?" Ratchet says. "You did, Sam."

"Did? Did what?"

"Died," Ratchet says quietly, as if they are in mourning, as if something has been lost, someone has died. "You died, Sam, and then the Allspark brought you back."

"Oh. Okay." Sam blinks, tries to take this in stride, "but it's okay, obviously, because here I am. With… uh…" he glances down at his hands, his wrist, "modifications."

"Yes. Modifications." Ratchet looks down as well. "The Allspark gave you the only kind of life it could- of an Autobot. This isn't compatible with a human, so I've had to give you the hardware to keep up with the lifespan it gave you, when it brought you back to life. This process will continue, replacing hardware. That's why you have metal grafts- our biggest concern is metalloid rejection. Like organ rejection, with transplant patients. Small amounts of metal, introduced to your skin and internal organs, are gradually being accepted, so there are no shocks to your system."

"Um… okay. So I've got the, uh, hardware to deal with it. That means I'll- what- never age, or something?" It feels like he's starting to fall behind in understanding, struggling to keep up.

"No, Sam, you will age, but it will be as we do. As if you have been keeping up with us all along."

"So I'm, like, Bee's age now?" Sam guesses. Ratchet nods.

"An accurate description. The Allspark converted your lifespan into a bot's. You started out anew, right where you left off." He almost smiles. "Actually, although Bumblebee is older mentally and emotionally, you are technically older than he is." This makes Sam grin. "However-" any amusement quickly evaporates at Ratchet's grim tone, "Sam, the time span for this is not what you think it is."

"Why? When did all this happen? With the Allspark, and everything- when-"

Ratchet looks away. Sam hates this feeling- feeling like the world is ending, like Ratchet is trying to keep it from him.

"One hundred and six years ago."

The world isn't merely ending, Sam realizes numbly. It's already over.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam wakes up and doesn't know what time it is. It's been two days since finding out- what, exactly? His mind still can't process it, still can't even begin to wrap around all that Ratchet told him. For now, that has been shut out of his mind, put aside to worry about at some later time. Sam looks around, hopes at least to find out what time it is, seeing as the windows are inexplicably locked, but his attention stutters over the end of his bed. That same guy who ran out two days ago is back, asleep slumped over the bed.

He's exactly the kind of guy that used to make Sam pretend he wasn't staring, because, well, he had  _Michaela,_ for heaven's sake. He isn't supposed to be staring at guys. But, now, Michaela wasn't here, she was- she was- Sam slams that train of thought to a halt, shuts it down entirely, and just focuses on the situation at hand. He's blonde, golden blonde, and his hair is a tousled mess, falling in half-curls. There's a scattering of freckles across his nose, and his lips are a pouty pink. The shirt sleeve Sam can see is pushed up against the bed, revealing a tan shoulder, muscles in his arms. As Sam watches, he stirs, lifts his head and blinks big amber eyes at Sam.

"Hi," he says quietly, and there's all this coiled energy that Sam can sense, like he's holding himself back. "Ratchet said- said you didn't forget me?" he sounds so hopeful, it's killing Sam.

"I- uh-" Sam stammers, then hesitates. Tries to remember, because those bright eyes are so  _hopeful._ Tries to remember what Ratchet said, without remembering everything around it. "Bee?" he whispers, hopes to anyone that will hear him that he's right.

The way those eyes light up, Sam knows he's right. It's almost possible to miss that, though, because a second later, they go dark again.

"So you forgot about the holo thing," Bee says, almost reluctant to talk about it, it seems. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam frowns, stares down at his hands. They barely look like his anymore. "The last thing…" Bee is watching him, almost hopeful again, almost more scared than anything else. "I guess… in the desert. Yeah. I think that's it," he nods, sure of it now as he recalls it all, "after running all that way, with Michaela, and getting to Optimus. Yeah, that's the last thing."

"Oh." Bee's gaze darts away from Sam. "Oh." He stands abruptly, gaze locked on the floor. "See you later, okay? I gotta- I have this- this thing- in Engineering- that I have to- to do, a thing-"

"Okay…see you…" Sam frowns in confusion, "maybe Ratchet will let me out soon, I'll come find you. Or something." Ratchet probably won't let him go for a while, but Sam can't think of anything else to say. Not when Bee looks so- so unsettled, and Sam doesn't even know why.

"Okay." His voice trembles, and as he leaves, Sam sees him brush a hand over his eyes.

"Bee-" he calls out, but the door's already closed. Sam hears no footsteps, but outside, a car engine roars away, and Bee is gone.

Sam spends the rest of the day staring down at the hands he doesn't recognize, trying not to think.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o

Whenever Ratchet works on anything explosive, it's hard to concentrate. He wishes he could, (he's sure everyone wishes he could), but it's not possible. Even the warning labels make him think of that lab, the explosions that seemed to rock the wall between the lab and his infirmary. The explosions, the cursing, the determinedly furious working, and the following explosion. Sometimes, Ratchet misses him so much it hurts. Concentrating is difficult. As he touches the laser to the frayed cables on the calibration monitor, the door to the medbay slams open, and Ratchet nearly slices through his own hand.

"This is the  _last_ time-" he snaps, whirling around. All his frustration melts away when he sees Bumblebee, a shaking, whimpering wreck before him. "Bumblebee-"

"You said he remembered!" Bee is half accusing, half falling apart, and just to be sure, Ratchet sneaks a quick check at his vitals. Whether it meant anything real or not, Bee was physically fine. "You said Sam remembered me!"

"Of course he does," Ratchet soothes, steps closer, but Bee is still making wrecked, strangled noises, like he's trying not to burst into tears.

"The last thing he remembers is dying," Bee chokes out, "and- and-" he sniffles, seems to regain his composure for a moment.

"What about what happened after that?" Ratchet says, and Bee starts to sob.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"It's nice," Sam says, looking around the room. "Kinda hotel-y… does that mean it comes with a maid?" he casts a hopeful look at Bee, who rolls his eyes. As soon as Sam was released from the hospital, a week after waking up, Bee was there to bring him to his new room in one of the apartment buildings in the military city, there to keep him distracted. Ratchet purposely let Sam leave at night, when the city is masked in darkness. It's the same reason the windows were always locked- too much change is a bad thing, Ratchet told Bee, it has to be given in small doses.

Sam doesn't know it and Bee hates it, but he has to be told the worst of the changes tonight. Bee didn't want to be the one to do it, although, at the same time, he wants to be the only one to do it. He wanted to tell Sam everything, but Ratchet wouldn't let him, and Bee has to agree with his reasoning. Bee knows, too well, that he would have fallen to pieces if Sam had looked at him and asked if it he had been out for a week.

"I like it," Sam appears in the doorway of the bedroom, "pretty cool." The apartment is pretty standard for the city; living room in the middle, opening into a kitchen on the left, bedroom on the right, with a bathroom that Sam said had a serious lack of Jacuzzi or platinum fixtures but otherwise wasn't bad.

"Hey, what's that?" Sam asks.

"A kitchen. In your case, a show of optimism on the builder's part."

"Thanks," Sam grins, "but I meant that." He points to a panel next to the kitchen wall.

"For the blinds," Bee says. Sam doesn't need to know they're called Tsun-Ways, that they were unpopular for a few years before they were installed in an actress's mansion in 2070 and suddenly became high in demand, that the panels are solar-powered and slant different ways, that there's more technology than the string-and-metal of the blinds Sam knew. "Hold down that button to make the panels rotate, and that one to make them go in or out. Of their case," he adds when Sam looks confused, points to the thin metal bracketing the windows, where the panels recede into. "See." He presses the button, and the panels collapse sideways, sliding neatly behind the metal, and the apartment becomes dappled with moonlight. "Pretty cool." Sam nods, watches from his position sprawled on the couch as Bee closes them again.

"Much as I'd like to stay awake to play with the windows," Sam yawns, "I think I'll head off to bed. Are we, uh," he pauses for a second, and Bee can almost,  _almost_ feel hope, "like, roommates? Because I so don't own every single episode of Star Trek, and I'm assuming that's all yours."

"Oh. Yeah." Bee's spark sinks. "Well, kind of. More like holding down the fort for you."

"Okay. But you'll still stay, right?" Sam looks over the top of the couch, and Bee can't say anything, just nods.

He still hasn't told Sam an hour later, when he's standing in the doorway of Sam's room, listening to him talk about how there's no way Bee's ever going to get him to watch all those Star Trek episodes, no matter what.

"And especially not that one episode, the one with all the creepy fluffy things that, like, have sex constantly- no way,"

"But that's my  _favourite,"_ Bee whines, but it's actually not, anyways. His favourite is when Spock kills Kirk. He cries every single time Kirk comes back and Spock shows real emotion.

"But, hey, that reminds me-Ratchet said there was something you had to- tell me?" Sam asks, sitting on his bed. Bee looks down.

"Sex-crazed fluff balls reminded you of that?" he asks.

"Yeah, right. No, I mean your favourite episode did."

"You remember which one it is?"

"Yeah, you made me watch it," Sam smiles, "like a thousand times. There's less suspense about whether Kirk's dead when you've seen it that many times. But, just- what Ratchet said?"

"Oh, yeah…" Bee wanders across the room, sits on the edge of the bed. "Sam… I know Ratchet told you how long you were out for, but- I don't think you really… really realize."

"Realize what?"

"Realize how much has changed." He meets Sam's gaze for a moment, those expressive brown eyes just as easy to read as they always were, and Sam's  _scared_ , "It's been over a century since-"

_What happened, oh, Primus, his heart rate, it's gone, it's gone, what happened, you have to be okay, Sam, you have to be, help him Ratchet oh please please help him, Sam, Sam, wake up, Sam! Don't leave me Sam, not yet, not now, not yet, please oh please oh please, no no no no Sam no!_

"Since your heart started becoming a spark instead," Bee says instead, shoving those memories away frantically. "Sam- everything you knew, every _one_ you know… Sam, they're gone." It hurts him to say, hurts so much, but what's worse is that it must hurt Sam even more.

"Everyone?" Sam repeats, and the way horror fills those eyes, the way all the color drains out of his face, Bee knows he finally understands and he wishes Sam didn't have to. "They're all- everyone, everyone is gone? My friends, Miles and Leo and Michaela and- oh, God, Bee,  _my_   _parents?"_

"I'm sorry," Bee breathes, and Sam starts to cry. Bee gathers Sam in his arms and holds him tight, feels the sobs that wrack Sam's body, feels the skin and metal of Sam's body. Even if this doesn't feel familiar to Sam, it feels familiar to Bee, in some way, and Bee wishes that could comfort Sam, to know he still fits here.

"It's not fair, to come back and lose them," Sam mumbles against Bee's neck, and Bee breaks down too, silent tears he doesn't let Sam see.

"I know, I know," he whispers back. More than Sam understand, Bee knows. Neither says anything more; there's nothing more than can be said. Sam can't bear to know anything more about this different world he's been forced to live in, and Bee can't tell him, can't hurt him like that. Bee says nothing, just holds Sam as he sobs for less than everything he lost. He can't miss everything.

Only Bee cries for everything Sam lost.


	3. Chapter 3

"Am I winning?" Ironhide tramps through the bushes that surround the rec building's lawn, totting his golf club and kicking a baseball ahead of him. Prowl frowns down at a piece of paper in his hand.

"Q-97 to 3T-46, my favour," Prowl says, and Ironhide stops.

"Uh,  _what?"_ he has to hide a grin when Prowl looks at him. "I mean, Q? T? Do they really use that?"

"Q's represent five hundred, T's are hundreds," Prowl explains patiently, "so, to simplify, I have five hundred and ninety seven, and you have three hundred and forty-six. The letter system is devised to simplify the scoring process, seeing as every target is worth twenty or fifty, or-"

"Okay, I got it," Ironhide breaks in. "Can we add points for broken things?"

"Broken things," Prowl repeats dubiously.

"Yeah. Please? Like, fifty points per window, ten points for dents in cars-"

"Fine," Prowl almost smiles, "That brings you up to 4T-66. Two broken windows, two dents in cars. But you're still losing."

"Well, if all it takes to get fifty points is a broken window…" Ironhide grins, and Prowl just shakes his head. "I should get the twins on my team!"

"To be fair, I should get one of them."

"Yeah, right. You've got a  _Q_ in your score. I want both of 'em. Or just the good one."

Prowl points to the baseball and Ironhide kicks it lightly in his direction. Prowl spends an inordinate time studying the target, which is really just a supply crate on its side, so long that Ironhide grows bored of watching the crate and stares at Prowl instead. His human holo has the clean-cut look of the military guys, from his dark jeans to his serious grey eyes. It's ruined by his hair, though, which is short but sort of unruly, all dark curls that tangle with each other. Ironhide is repeatedly tempted to ask Prowl why he doesn't edit that part of the program, which seems to have decided that he'd look like this as a human. It seems too messy for Prowl's tastes, but Ironhide always worries that if he asks, Prowl will change it, and Ironhide would hate that.

Ironhide bites back the urge to ask Prowl if he'd just take a shot already. Instead, he leans on the club and watches. Prowl had chosen a hockey stick, and he swings it at the baseball; somehow, the baseball arcs up, and hits the dead centre of the crate.

"How'd you do that?" Ironhide gapes, and Prowl just gives him a sly smile.

"It's all angles and trajectory paths."

"Yeah, right. If I tried that, I'd break a window."

"Well, then you'd get fifty points!" Prowl laughs, and Ironhide barely hears anything else he says, because that laugh, Primus, that laugh, it just kills him.

He doesn't even see the Camaro that pulls up by the curb; Prowl's the one to notice Bee coming over to them, in that holo form that draws everyone's attention. "Hey, Bee."

"Hi… you guys seen Sam?"

Ironhide silences an answer; a century ago,  _did you lose him?_ would have made Bee laugh, but now, he wouldn't dare. It's too true. They've wondered it every day.

"Not recently," Prowl replies, and Bee frowns, worry darkening his face.

"I'll contact Conner, see if he has. He goes everywhere," Ironhide adds, and Bee thanks them quietly. They watch him leave, and once the sound of the Camaro's purring engine fades from the street, Prowl turns back to Ironhide.

"I hate what happened to him," he says, summing up what everyone's feeling in the most efficient, accurate way possible.

"Yeah," Ironhide agrees quietly. There's no other way to feel, after all. All anyone can do is hate what happened, blame the situation for turning out the way it did. No one is at fault, but there are victims aplenty. In this situation, hating is the only thing anyone can do that won't destroy them from the inside out.

For Bee, though, Ironhide doesn't know if it really matters anymore. Before long, there's not going to be much left of Bumblebee to destroy.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam is lost.

The map seemed very straightforward when it was on his kitchen table, but now, he can't figure out if he's been following it backwards the entire time, and he's not sure whether turning it around would help or get him even more lost.

It's beyond him as to why a street called  _East Mall_ doesn't have even a  _single_ store, let alone a  _shopping mall,_ as the name would imply. By the time he'd noticed that, of course, he'd already missed the street he'd been looking for, quite some time ago.

Bringing Bee along probably would have been a wise decision. But Sam woke up late and Bee wasn't there, and then Sam got bored, because at home, he could either stare at the walls or watch Star Trek, and he's  _seen_ them all, thanks to Bee, so he'd left, and then he'd gone by the medbay- and now, here he is, on some stupid street, no street sign for miles. He keeps passing military people, but can't bring himself to ask them for directions to- this is half the problem, of course. He doesn't know where he lives, either.

"You lost?" a voice purrs from behind him. Sam stumbles around, comes to face a guy that doesn't exactly fit in with the military. Casual clothes, inhumanly gorgeous; these, Sam has come to see, are calling cards for an Autobot holo, and Sam's almost willing to bet on it.

"Is it that obvious?" He sweeps a quick glance over the holo; brown-reddish hair, the bedhead cut that would probably cost a couple hundred in a salon, big brown eyes, and Sam could swear there's something of an edge there, but he can't take the time to study that.

"Oh, you actually are?" he smiles, charming and maybe a little cunning, "I had no idea. It got you talking to me, didn't it?"

"Was that the point?" Sam asks.

"Do you want it to be?" It doesn't really sound like a question, so Sam decides he doesn't have to reply. He's never been any good at- God, are they  _flirting?_ "If you are lost, though, I can at least offer you a ride to somewhere. Keeping the pleasure of my company afterwards is an optional feature." Another smile, "kind of like leather seats."

"Right," Sam snorts, "who turns down leather seats?"

"Exactly," he says, and Sam feels like he just walked right into a trap. "So, you coming?" he waves a hand towards the street, "leather seats await." Sam nods, follows him down the sidewalk. "You're pretty far from home," he remarks.

"How'd you know? Do you- uh- know me?" Sam keeps having the feeling that maybe, there was a life after the desert he can't quite recall and maybe, there are things there he  _should_  remember.

"Well, who doesn't?" he shrugs, "how many humans are there like you?" Confirming the bot angle. Sam runs through a mental list of all the bots he knows, but he's pretty sure this isn't any of them. Not blonde like Bee. Not as old as Ratchet, who looks more like thirty, forty-something, whereas this bot looks twenty-five-ish to Sam and Bee's just-past-twenty. He can't imagine this is Ironhide, either, because Hide has no sense of humor, and the same goes for Optimus. More importantly, they wouldn't be  _hitting on him,_ either. Who else had there been?

"Here," he interrupts Sam's silent musings, "approve?" His car form is a Lamborghini, all sleek lines and dark windows. If there was ever a car made for impressing people, Sam thinks, this is it.

"Who wouldn't?" Sam slides into the passenger seat, and the holo goes around to the driver's side. "So, you know where I live?" he asks, semi-hopefully, because he definitely doesn't know. The bot shrugs, as the Lamborghini pulls away from the curb.

"I'm assuming one of the apartment buildings, out in the west," he says. "You know, come to think of it, I'm surprised you're not with Bumblebee." He looks at Sam for a shade too long when he says this, like maybe he knows something Sam doesn't. Sam doesn't know whether to believe that, or whether it's just a game the bot is playing with him.

"He wasn't around this morning," Sam shrugs, "I just wanted to go explore a bit."

"Ah. City to your liking?" It's funny how he manages this, the way anything he says needs only a few noun substitutions to turn it into heavy flirting, bordering on coming on to him. More than anything, Sam wants to know who he  _is._

"It's nice. Different." Different is saying nothing at all, really. It can't be different- different suggests that this and what he know share some common ground. Here, buildings are glassy and an onyx-black, staggeringly tall to the point of rejecting gravity, surpassing anything Sam ever knew. Sam was relieved not to see hover-cars, but all the engines are either dead silent or roar with fine-tuned power. The bot car forms he's seen seem to have had only slight modifications; probably sentimentalism on the bot's part. Bee's added only minor adjustments; Sam's sort of looking forward to getting to drive with him. It seems like that will be the only thing even a little like home. It's fascinating, but at the same time, he's overwhelmed and some part of him whimpers about going home, but when home isn't just a place, but a  _time,_ he can't do anything but try not to listen.

"Different," the bot muses, shakes his head. "so I've heard." This makes  _no_ sense, but Sam isn't sure whether clarification is allowed in the rules. He glances out the window, doesn't recognize anything.

"Where are we?"

"Well, you don't know where you want to go," the bot says, "figured we'd find Bee. Although I could give you some suggestions about where to go, as well as what you could do." That sounds suggestive in more ways than Sam can comprehend. "But maybe next time. I might even let you have a say." His eyes dance when he says that, and that's more of a come-on than anything anyone could say. The Lamborghini slows to a stop outside a silvery building. This one is Sam's favourite; in the middle, there seems to be a floor that's an open courtyard, with plants spilling over the sides. "You'll find Bee in there," the bot says, as the door to Sam's side swings open for him. "Seventh floor or so."

"Uh. Thanks." Sam offers, glancing back as he slides out.

"My pleasure," he smiles, so predatory and shamelessly seductive that Sam is left stammering, even as the Lamborghini roars away. He's still standing there speechless when someone walks up from behind.

"Bumblebee has been in a panic without you," a voice says, and the straightforwardness of this really makes the sultry growl and tumble of that other bot's voice incredibly obvious. Sam looks up at this holo, doesn't recognize him. Light side of pale, serious grey eyes, dark curls. No one Sam knows. "Come with me," the holo says, beckons, and Sam follows. "I'm Prowl," he offers, once they're inside. The building is cool and wherever there aren't open windows, the walls are sheets of glass. Military guys wander around them, and from the amount of yelling Sam hears from one room, all about a sports game, he figures this is the rec building.

"I guess you know who I am," Sam says, and Prowl nods.

"Naturally." They take the elevator up seven floors; Sam doesn't voice his disappointment that they're still using elevators, not teleporters, but he supposes the touch-screen-like display and speed make up for that a little. Prowl takes him into a room down the hallway. It's just like the rest of the building, surrounded by windows that overlook the metallic city, the last vestiges of sunlight flashing off the buildings as the sun fades from sight. Most of one inside wall is taken up by a TV, and it's more comforting than Sam can really say that he recognizes the name of one of the baseball teams playing. He never thought he'd be so grateful for professional sports, something he never really understood, but someone like Miles would say that this is another reason why they've never failed him- but that hurts too much to think about, makes something in him lurch and whimper.

A bot is sprawled on the couch watching, looks up at their arrival.

"I see you found him."

" _I_ didn't," Prowl says, and the sharpness there makes Sam stare, wonder even more who that other bot even  _was._ "Have you seen Bee, Ironhide?"

"What?" Bee appears in the doorway to the next room. When he sees Sam, he lights up, and for some reason, Sam finds himself thinking,  _sure missed that look,_ even though he can't recognize it. He couldn't even remember Bee's holo form. "Sam!" Two seconds later he's standing before them, and for a heartbeat, Sam senses that coiled energy again, like Bee's holding himself back from something. "Where were you?"

"Lost," Sam explains sheepishly.

"Prowl found you?" he looks up at Prowl, who shakes his head no and goes to join Ironhide on the couch. "Who?" Bee asks.

"I- uh, I don't actually know. Some bot."

"Oh," Bee pauses a moment. "the twins?"

"Who? Twins?"

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," Bee explains, "I guess… you can meet them later. Sideswipe is nice, I'll introduce you." He stays conspicuously silent after that, and Sam has to wonder at that, what the  _other_ twin is that his brother isn't, whatever it is he lacks that makes Bee prefer him over the other. Then again, Sam has never even heard of either of them- he can't say if one's lacking, or the other has more, if it's sympathy or humility or anything.

"Lamborghinis?" Sam guesses, and Bee looks relieved.

"Oh, so it was Sideswipe? That's good," he says, and Ironhide laughs.

"Thank Primus, no wonder he's back in one piece. You got lucky, Bee."

"Yeah. Yellow Lamborghini, right?" Sam says, and there's silence for a moment.

"Red," Bee says, "do you mean red?"

"Uh… unless I've gone colorblind…yellow."

"Well," Ironhide says finally, "guess you really were lucky, huh, Bee?"

"Guess you met Sunstreaker," Bee tells Sam, leaning back against the couch and looking less than thrilled.

"He was… um…." Sam searches for some way to say  _flirty, and it was kind of hot,_ some way that won't make Bee freak out. Sunstreaker doesn't seem to be his favourite bot. "Interesting," he finally says. Bee looks at him for a moment, like he's trying to figure out what Sam means by that.

"You said Derek was interesting, too," he finally offers up, half a smile, but Sam has no idea who he's talking about.

"Derek?" he frowns, but can't recall ever meeting someone like that.

"Never mind," Bee looks away, but Sam saw the way his amber eyes went dark. "It's getting late, you want to head home?"

"That'd be nice, yeah." Even a week after- whatever it was, Sam doesn't want to think about it, waking up or what- he still can't claim to be one hundred percent back. Especially after spending an entire day wandering, lost, in a city that makes his head spin.

He ends up on the couch at his apartment, laptop open on the table and Bee asleep on his shoulder. Sam had found the computer on the table before the couch, and logged in thinking he would see who was online to chat.

It had taken a full four minutes before he'd realized that none of his friends were there. That none of them were anywhere at all. That he was here, but they had already died, lived their entire lives and  _died_. It takes an effort to keep back tears he refused to shed, because that isn't going to help anything, nothing at all. They're going to stay gone, and he's going to stay here, without them. Beside him, Bee shifts a little.

"You okay?" Bee mumbles, and Sam doesn't even know how Bee knows. He feels fortunate for the first time in memory, though, since all this started. He might have lost the whole world, but Bee is still here. Sam hasn't lost his best friend; this is some of the world he lost coming back.

"Yeah," he says, if only to convince himself. Bee just moves in closer against him, barely awake, and his hand finds Sam's wrist, squeezes gently.

Sam stays quiet, just looks down at Bee's hand on his arm. Bee falls back asleep, so warm curled into Sam's side.

"Bee?" Sam barely whispers, and Bee doesn't stir. It just goes to show how tired he really was- after all, on the walk back to the apartment building, he had let Sam's explanation of "I was just exploring the city" slide, probably didn't even notice that it had been a poorly executed lie. Sam hadn't wanted to tell Bee where he'd really been- talking to Ratchet. Sam studies the way his skin transitions into metal on his forearm, but he can't even imagine what Ratchet was talking about, with internal organs and everything.  _The Allspark changed your internal composition,_ Ratchet had explained,  _you're going to live as long as we do, but your organic body won't be able to last that long. This, with the metal, is just the beginning._

Ratchet had said it was a beginning, but all Sam sees is that this is the end of pretending everything is normal. Waking Bee up and talking to him would make it easier to think about, but Sam can't bring himself to wake him. Bee never seems to sleep- recharge, whatever- anymore, and when Sam asked, Bee had mumbled something about bad dreams and changed the subject. He wonders what it is that keeps Bee from recharging soundly at night. Sam can't ask, though, because he has the haunting suspicion that whatever memories that won't leave Bee alone are the very same ones that evade him.

If whatever it is that Sam can't remember is torturing Bee so much, he's not sure he  _wants_ to remember any of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunstreaker finds terrible amusement in waiting for a reaction. He waits, counting the hours, and with every one that passes by, the result is sure to be more intense. It's just a matter of waiting.

This time, it's not until the morning afterwards that he gets what he's been anticipating. Prime sends the twins to check on part of the perimeter fence, and it's not until they've arrived, a mile away from the heart of the city, that the waiting ends.

"So," Sideswipe doesn't look at him, but Sunstreaker knows he's not paying attention to the fence. "What exactly do you think you were doing with Sam yesterday?"

"I didn't do anything," Sunstreaker says, his token offer. Sideswipe ignores it.

"Who're you trying to aggravate here? Bee? Because he didn't do a fragging thing to you, and he never would." He finally turns to glare at Sunstreaker, every kind of fury on his face, "you don't even know. Bee's got enough going on- know what he's doing today? He's been waiting in the medbay because Ratchet is working on Sam again, and don't you think that's hard enough for him? For both of them? I don't think Bee even knew Ratchet still had more procedures to do, because Sam didn't tell him because he knew Bee would freak. I think Bee and Sam are going through enough without having  _you_ screw everything up even more."

"I didn't do anything," Sunstreaker repeats, insistent this time, "after all, why would  _that_ -"

"Don't go there," Sideswipe snarls, and Sunstreaker smirks. "Just because- even if Sam- it doesn't mean it never happened!"

"Doesn't it?" Sunstreaker purrs, circling around him, "who'll know the difference?"

"You don't even want him. What the frag would you even want with someone like him?"

"Oh, I get it now," Sunstreaker lets his sarcasm turn venomous, makes Sideswipe flinch.

"You don't," he says quietly, because he knows. He knows Sunstreaker won't argue any further after that tone, knows screaming won't stop him and threatening won't do a thing, knows that it's the quiet that scares Sunstreaker most.

"I think that's beside the point," Sunstreaker says instead. It's a small victory for Sideswipe, but somehow, nothing he's ever won has ever felt more important than anything Sunstreaker ever did.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

" _I'm just not good at meeting new people," Sam said, pushing buttons on the radio. "I mean, what do you even say to someone when you meet them?"_

" _Live long and prosper?" Bee suggested through the radio, and Sam choked with laughter. Once again, Sam was glad he'd let Bee take control of the car- Sam figured he'd probably crash the car, getting so distracted like this. A movie he'd once seen had said that a sense of humour made people human- if Sam had needed further confirmation that he and Bee were more alike than they seemed, this would have been unarguable evidence._

" _You and that show…" Sam shook his head, grinned. "It's years old!"_

" _Things get better with age," Bee protested, reverting back to his own voice, smoother since the last repair to his voice mod, but still not quite right yet. "I mean, Ratchet says that all the time."_

" _Just because he's old."_

" _You've no idea," Bee snickered, "he's_ _ **old."**_

" _I'm sure he'd love to hear you talk about him like this."_

" _He'd take me apart," Bee said cheerfully, "and then put me back together in the shape of a toaster."_

" _I like toast," Sam mused._

" _Ha, ha. I'd burn it." The camaro turned off the main street. "Anyways, I don't think it was that bad. The meeting people thing."_

" _I guess. Just awkward." Sam's father's coworker had just been transferred to his branch of the company; Ron had invited him over for dinner, and Sam hadn't demonstrated the best conversational skills, instead offering silences and dead-end answers._

" _I doubt he cares. All teenagers are like that."_

" _I'm twenty, you'll notice."_

" _I didn't see much difference between teen and twenty, really," Bee snickered and Sam scowled down at the dashboard. Before he could think of any good comeback- which would have been difficult, as Bee was technically correct- they arrived at the auto garage Mikaela's father owned. "Who's that guy?" Bee asked, as Sam opened the door. A few yards away, an old Mustang was being worked on, hood propped open. A guy about Sam's age was working on the engine; he had short, dark hair, sunglasses, muscular arms, sagging jeans and no shirt._

" _Sam!" Mikaela's voice drew Sam's attention away from the guy and over to her. She wove around the tables and stools scattered in the garage and came over to kiss Sam. "Right on time."_

" _Clockwork."_

" _Or an alien robot reminding you to be on time, right?" Mikaela smiled, and Sam heard Bee snicker._

" _Hey, Kaela?" the guy had straightened up, turned towards them, "seen an eight millimetre wrench around? Think I set it down someplace."_

" _Inside the Chevy," she called back. "Oh, Sam, you haven't met Derek yet, have you?" Sam shook his head no. "He just started working here. He wants to be a mechanic," she added, and the little wave of pride in her voice made Sam frown. "Anyways, let me just grab my jacket and I'll be right out!" She ran back to the garage while Sam got back in the Camaro._

" _Derek?" Bee said, a definite note of disdain in his voice._

" _He's… interesting," Sam said, and Bee just made a scoffing noise, no time for a reply before Mikaela climbed into the passenger seat._

_o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

Sam wakes up to find Bee at his bedside, studying what looks to be x-rays. "Hey," Sam's voice makes Bee jump a little, and he smiles a little when he meets Sam's gaze anyways.

"It didn't hurt, did it?" he asks, and Sam shakes his head no. His head aches from the anaesthesia; he can feel where the stitches are on his chest, and it's not a pleasant feeling. But the look on Bee's face makes Sam say no. It's the same as when Sam finally told Bee what Ratchet had said last night; Ratchet had told him that the procedures weren't done yet, not by a long shot. Sam didn't want to ask where this would all end up, but the steps seemed to be leading up to making him as close to a bot as possible. This last procedure had something to with his lungs; Sam really hadn't wanted to know the details going in. "Ratchet gave me these for you," Bee says, offering the two photos to Sam, "see, he made it so that your lungs can handle things beside oxygen, basically." The image barely resembles lungs, in Sam's opinion. There are too many dimensions, too many different paths, and it's fascinating until he realizes that this is  _inside_ him, and then it starts to feel sickening.

"I think I'd rather not know," Sam looks up at Bee instead. Bee is staring down at the photos, something unreadable on his face. "Hey, I remember who Derek is- was- by the way," he says instead. Bee frowns, looks to him.

"Of all things to remember-" he starts, but shakes his head and falls silent for a moment. "How?"

"I don't know… dreamed it, or something. He was just the dude at the auto shop, right?" Bee looks at him for a long time when he says this, almost like he's debating saying something, and eventually chooses not to, just nods. "Huh. Was he important?"

"Uh…" Bee hesitates for a moment. "Well…he's been gone for a century, so none of that really matters anymore." He stands abruptly, shoves his hands in his jean pockets, "Will you be okay for a little while? I want to ask Ratchet something."

"Yeah, sure." Sam watches Bee leave, but can't ask anything, anything at all. He's not sure what to ask, even more unsure as to whether he even wants to know.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Ratchet keeps telling himself he'll get used to dealing with emergencies, but he knows he never will, not really. They're too much of a shock, but it's not just that, it's more the problem of the messenger. They're always either hysterical or shell-shocked, and whatever emergency that's going on is always easier to deal with than the bot that comes running to tell him.

The x-rays and scan results and images are all splayed out on the desk before Ratchet, but nothing else comes out of them, no more answers offering themselves to him. He always works on Sam's case- horribly clinical terms, but he can't find anything else- in an office in the hospital portion of the medbay, given Sam's human size, and the according test results. Bumblebee had come in half an hour ago, and his tense calm was worse than any hysterics he could have burst into.

"His memory," Bee had whispered, "he remembered this thing that happened, right after the desert- but-" something in Bee was broken, and Ratchet couldn't help, couldn't help because he didn't even know what it was, because it wasn't physically there. "Where did those years go?" Bee had whimpered, and Ratchet still had no answer for him.

He bent back over the scans of Sam's brain, which the Allspark had reformatted as a processor, by charging the neurons with an electrical current, turning memories into files, rewriting the composition itself. He doesn't know where to start. Nothing is physically wrong with it. Nothing. Nothing at all.

"I expected to find you here." Optimus's voice makes Ratchet nearly flinch. He doesn't look up from the outlines that sprawl across the image before him, mapping out Sam's neurological transmitters. There's no reason to, really; Optimus didn't care to put much work into his holo even to the bare minimum that Ratchet had invested, tossing aside details like eye colour shade and skin inconsistencies like freckles; Prime's holo is so generic, it's like looking at no one at all.

"I just- can't find them," Ratchet mumbles, half to himself, and doesn't bother to clarify anything. Optimus doesn't move in from the doorway.

"We tracked a decepticon signal," he says, and Ratchet closes his eyes, half marvelling at how he didn't even think to wonder how things could get worse. "It disappeared before we could really get any coordinates, but we're still scanning for it."

"So they're not here."

"No. Not yet." Optimus pauses, seems to recognize this as pessimistic, "they might not come back. Could be a misreading." This is a pathetic offering; they have no misreadings. It's not technologically possible.

"Tell me when something happens," Ratchet says, and he can hear it in Optimus's silence,  _I just did._ Ratchet has always hated how words are so obvious in silence, the way he can hear Bee say things he'd never want to say aloud, hear Bee accuse  _you stole Sam from me, you killed him, this isn't him, I want him back._

"If someone is emotionally compromised, I hope you would tell me," Optimus says suddenly, and Ratchet turns to look at him.

"Afraid of facing real emotions?" he snaps, because Optimus will know he's talking about that lack of sympathy Prime gave him when they left the Ark.

"Afraid of chastising a comrade who is suffering," Optimus corrects quietly. It's the closest thing he's ever offered to an apology. Ratchet turns back to the scans.

"I'm trying to avoid that," he says. Optimus doesn't move.

"I know," he says, "you've been doing that for vorns."

Ratchet lets him leave without stopping him. He doesn't let himself think about it any more, about the Ark and the bot he left and the way Optimus told him to focus on the mission at hand and how it took him so long to get even halfway to an apology. He tries not to consider what it says about him, that he'd rather face this horrible tragedy than his own personal past. It probably has to do with the fact that he'd rather take on the emergency, not the messenger.

The messenger always falls to pieces, and Ratchet doesn't know how to fix something that isn't physically broken.


	5. Chapter 5

The afternoon sun sinks lower in the sky, movements magnified by the flashing lights from the rooftops, the fading sunlight glinting off angled solar panels. Sam shields his eyes with his hand, looks up towards the roofs even as Bee studies him. Ratchet had said his main concern was metalloid rejection, easily the most fatal of complications, easily the most likely to occur. His only way to safeguard against it was to implicate metal slowly; now, Sam's arms are mostly metal where there once was skin, all the way to his fingers. His palms are still unchanged, and Bee stares at Sam's hand as Sam looks up, thanking Primus for miniscule graces.

"Solar panels," Bee explains, throat closing up a little, "they follow the sun. Heat-sensitive."

"Cool." Sam drops his hand, continues up to the rec building. "This one's my favourite," he says.

"Out of the three you've seen," Bee almost dies when Sam laughs, another thing metal can't take over, but that can still be stolen from Bee. Sam still looks a little awed at the barely-visible glass doors that slide back as they approach, and is equally impressed with the cylindrical elevator.

"Seriously looks like a time machine," he says, as the doors slide shut. "or a teleporter."

"Sorry to disappoint, but we don't have those yet." Bee smirks, leaning back against the wall, "unfortunately, we don't live in Star Trek. And really, it's kinda unfortunate. Because how cool would it be? I think I'd wanna be a pilot."

"Really?" Sam shrugs a shoulder, "I always saw you as the navigator, actually. But, hey, what floor?"

"Oh. Hit seven, will you?" He guiltily hides a smile at Sam's puzzled look upon seeing the button panel; this is the reason Bee instructed him to do so, the way those hazel eyes fill with confusion.

"It ends at five," Sam informs him, looks back at the flat panel of touch screen buttons.

"See the black square below? It takes your thumbprint."

"Okay…" Sam presses his thumb to the panel, and instantly, buttons six and seven light up. "How did that work?" Sam asks, touching button seven. The elevator glides upward.

"Bot-only floors. The military people are great about giving us our space, but I think they just got sick of us saying 'wow, you guys haven't gotten that technology  _still?'_ and then laughing really hard."

"But…" Sam frowns, "my fingerprint worked."

"Yeah."

"But it's a bot-access only. I'm not-"

"Sam," Bee looked up, but Sam wasn't meeting his gaze, "you are one of us."

The doors open, and Sam leaves without replying. "So, how badly do you feel like losing?" Sam calls back to him, already in the next room. Bee watches the elevator doors close before following Sam.

"I never lose."

"You lose at shooting games and you lose at racing games." Sam flops down on the black couch, examines the cardboard-thin TV remote, running his fingers down the black metal. "Although, granted, you only lose shooting games because you play hide and seek."

"That's a battle strategy!"

"That's a kid's game," Sam grins as Bee settles next to him, not quite near enough to touch much. He turns on the TV, and Bee sees the grimace he makes at the sound of his metal fingertip against the remote. "Hide and seek it is."

An hour later, Bee is still losing, and Sam's still going easy on him. Bee can always tell. "Tell you what," Sam says, after sniping Bee for the twenty-eighth time, "I'm gonna go grab food from that cafeteria downstairs, you take the time to find a decent hiding spot."

"My hiding spots are  _brilliant,"_ Bee insists, but can't keep from smiling as Sam laughs.

"Sure, if you were an invisible ninja, they'd be spectacular."

"I wish they didn't have sniper rifles."

"Even if they had hand-to-hand stuff like phasers, which I'm sure you'd like, I could just throw it at you and hit you that way." Bee pouts at this, and Sam just laughs. "Start looking for a hiding place," Sam suggests. He leaves Bee to it. Bee's still searching through the forest-like setting onscreen for a decent hiding spot when the door opens again.

"Hey, Bee," Prowl wanders across the room, pauses to watch him, "oh, don't hide there. That's so obvious."

"Is not!" He's positioned high up a platform of the warehouse, and, as far as he can tell, has no blindspots from here.

"All he has to do is look up from the second floor," Prowl says, "or the ground, for that matter. That platform is a metal grate. It's got holes in it."

"Oh…" Bee scowls.

"Try behind that shed on your right," Prowl walks into the next room, as Bee sulkily finds the hiding place to be nothing short of perfect. He glances at the other side of the screen, but as the game has it, at his angle, the picture's dark. Bee scoots over to where Sam was sitting; Sam's screen lightens, and his own darkens. Sam had spent a good ten minutes marvelling at that, the first time he saw it.

"Bee!" The doors get thrown open, and Sam comes running over to throw himself nearly on top of Bee.

"I found the perfect hiding spot!" Bee declares.

"Great, but. You will  _never_ guess what I just saw."

"Um…" Bee studies Sam, who is still nearly in his lap, and holding a bagel. "I'm guessing a cafeteria. Do I win?"

"No, no, no, out in the hallway! I saw-" Sam suddenly drops his voice to a near-whisper, " _Sideswipe and Sunstreaker,"_ he stresses, and Bee just blinks at him.

"Okay."

"I thought you said they were twins!" Sam whispers fervently. Bee nods. "Well they- they- dude, they were- were-"

"Were in the hallway?" Bee suggests helpfully. Sam groans.

"No! They were  _making out,_ like- like the just-short-of-sex kind!"

"Oh." Bee frowns. "In the hallway? Again? At least tell me it was our floor. The military guys find it a little awkward."

"But  _why?"_

"Uh… I don't know. I mean, don't ask don't tell was repealed fifty or so years ago and all- but you gotta admit, it  _is_ really close to just… going at it in the hallway, so…" Bee shrugs, as Sam continues to hyperventilate, "it's just a little awkward, no matter who's doing it."

"I mean- they're  _twins!"_ Sam says, " _brothers!"_

"Oh," Bee grins, "oh, I get it. No, they're not."

"But- twins?"

"Yeah."

"Brothers!"

"No."

"Twins!"

"Yes."

"God, you guys are confusing." Sam falls back on the couch, hands over his face, "explain to me how you can be twins and not brothers? Please?" he peeks out from behind his hands, and Bee's spark lurches at the sight.

"'Twins' is really not a very accurate translation of what they are."

"I should freakin' hope not."

"They're more like… see, what makes them twins is their sparks," Bee explains. Sam pushes himself up to a sitting position, still frowning slightly as he tries to comprehend. "Every bot has, essentially, half a spark. I mean, it's perfectly functional on it's own- like, imagine if you divided a whole thing in half, and still had two whole things."

"Like those popsicles that are stuck together, with two sticks?" Sam suggests.

"Uh- yeah, kind of. Like popsicles." A memory flashes up, sticky lime and licking, but he crushes it back down. "Well, normally, sparks are created separately, but there just is another half to them. It has to do with their energy and stuff. But, with twins, they're one spark literally split in two. They weren't just designed for each other- they were designed together. Sort of."

"So…" Sam pauses for a second, "they're one thing divided in two, but not."

"Exactly."

"And they're not really brothers."

"Right. But 'soul mates' doesn't describe them enough. Every bot has that."

"So you're saying… huh. All bots are designed for someone? Not just them?"

"Yeah," Bee drops his gaze, unable to look at Sam anymore, "every single bot has a spark mate."

"Like a soul mate?"

"Just like that."

"Huh." Sam stands and stretches, "that's pretty cool. So I guess I can't freak out about the fact that they were- doing that."

"Just the public indecency part."

"Okay, cool. That's easier to handle." Sam freezes. "Have they ever- uh- done worse than that?" Bee can think of a dozen times without even trying, and somehow, Sam sees to read this on his face. "Oh, God," Sam groans, "I hope I never walk in on that."

"I suggest knocking. No matter what door it is. In the past, we've, uh, gotten really close to walking in on them. So I'd suggest knocking."

"Great. But, hey, I ran into Hide down there and he said Ratchet's looking for me. Something about getting bed rest and that I'm not doing it…" Sam rolls his eyes, "catch you back at home?" Bee just nods. "See you!" Bee watches him leave, shut the door behind him.

_All bots are designed for someone?_

Bee buries his face in his hands, trembles with silent sobs.  _It's not fair,_ he thinks, the only coherent thought he can manage,  _it's not fair ,it's not fair, it's not fair._ He's been told countless times, all his life, that  _life isn't fair,_ but some things, he's always thought, should be. For some things to be unfair would be too terrible for any world to handle.

"Bee?" Bee doesn't look up at Prowl's voice. Prowl sits beside him, slips an arm around his shaking shoulders. "If it happened once, it can happen again," Prowl says.

"But he forgot, he forgot it all," Bee manages to choke out, "I hate it, I  _hate_ it, seeing him and it's not him, he's not my Sam, it's like having him and not having him at the same time.  _I miss him the way he was,"_ he whimpers.

"He's already shown he can be like that," Prowl says, that metered logic barely taking the edge off of the pain, "he's already proved it can happen. It can happen again."

"It  _can,"_ Bee mumbles, "but it isn't."

"You can't think like that. It's not going to do you any good."

"He doesn't remember," Bee says, so broken it hurts, "it's like I was never there."

Prowl doesn't say anything else, just lets him sob.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

" _I… I really am sorry, Sam," Mikaela said, and Sam couldn't tell, never could read anything on her face. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this. You're such a great guy."_

" _Just not great enough, right?"_

" _Not the right kind," Mikaela corrected, "incredible. Amazing. Just not for me." Sam frowned, glanced into the auto garage behind her. He couldn't see anyone else, but he could hear that there was someone else inside working._

" _Is he?"_

" _Sam…" Mikaela looked almost weary, like she expected Sam to get angry, demand to know if she was leaving him for someone else, make her say it even though it was by now obvious, but Sam said nothing. "I'm sorry," she said quietly._

_Sam hadn't planned on saying anything, but he never knew if the decision was always made only because he knew Bee always found out. He didn't make it two feet past the garage before Bee figured out something was wrong._

" _Sam?" Bee called, and Sam turned around, walked back into the garage and slid into the Camaro backseat without asking. "Something wrong?"_

" _Mikaela left me for Derek." He covered his face with his hands, forced back tears, "I should have known, when I met him, I should have_ _ **known.**_ _He's exactly what she wants, and I'm nothing like him."_

" _Sam." Bee's voice was suddenly closer, and Sam jumped when he saw that there was an entirely human someone sitting next to him. "Spent today working on a holo program," Bee said, putting his arms around Sam._

" _Oh." Sam turned his face against Bee's shoulders, tears still burning at him._

"  _She's not what you want either, then." Bee said quietly. "You need someone that can be honest about wanting you. You deserve better than her."_

" _I just… I don't… I don't know if I loved her. I don't. I just- she didn't have to- to leave me for someone, you know? Make it because I'm just not good enough?"_

" _You are good enough. She just doesn't know how to appreciate that."_

_Sam couldn't argue with him, just cried softly against his chest, listening to the sound of a heartbeat so real, it would have convinced him they were the same if he hadn't already known._

_The worst part, Sam realized later, would be telling his mother. Judy was in kitchen when Sam walked into the house, arguing with a cookbook._

" _Honestly!" Sam could hear her muttering, "you think I need to bake that at four hundred degrees! You don't know a thing, clearly- oh, Sammy!" she called out, hearing the footsteps he'd been trying to quiet, "how was your date with Mikaela, honey?" Sam groaned inwardly, trudged over to the door of the kitchen._

" _We broke up," he said flatly, looked away so he couldn't see the tears in his mother's eyes._

" _Oh, Sammy, that's terrible!"_

" _It's okay. We weren't- it wasn't right." He stared down at the floor. "It's okay."_

" _I'm sorry, honey. You know, I never liked her, she's not good for you."_

" _Mom, you always liked her," Sam half smiled._

" _Well, now I don't! My poor baby boy!" She crossed the kitchen and enveloped him in her arms, "you deserve better, sweetie. You really do. I just know you'll end up with someone that really, really loves you."_

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Bee is there when Sam wakes up, making this surgery like the previous day's in every aspect. Ratchet had been modifying Sam's second lung, and Bee is here now, waiting for him to wake up.

"So is there any more metal I should know about?" Sam asks. Bee looks grave.

"I hope you didn't like your tongue much."

"What?" Sam raises a hand to his mouth, only to hear Bee start to snicker. "You little liar."

"Too tempting to resist."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Sam examines his shoulder, having found the new metal to be there, "man, it's weird, being in-transit between species."

"Great way to put it." Bee's watching him almost hopefully, like he's half expecting something, half doesn't dare to hope for it.

"So…" Sam pauses, "Mikaela broke up with me." This is what Bee's watching for, he can tell the second he says it. "Left me for the Derek guy. I remember now, everything up until that day."

"Yeah. But, still, he doesn't matter. Besides, she left him too." Bee says.

"Did I get a kick out of that even then?"

"Kinda, yeah." Bee grins, "and then the next guy left her. That's how I learned what poetic justice is. Remember anything else?"

"Yeah." The image came willingly to his mind, seeing Bee's amber eyes for the first time, those arms wrapped around him. "Uh. Telling my mom about Mikaela. She like, instantly hated her."

Sam's certain that the disappointed look that flashes across Bee's face is entirely in his own imagination.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sam always leaves the blinds slightly open at night. He doesn't know what they're called, and he's not very good at figuring out how to work them, but he likes the golden glint of the lunar panels, the way it blends with the silvery moonlight. As he's struggling with the buttons, Bee appears in the doorway to his room.

"Need help?" he comes over without waiting for Sam's answer; this happens every night.

"I don't get how they can be so hard to deal with… I miss the string blinds used to have. All you had to do was yank it."

"You broke your blinds," Bee reminds him, sending him a grin.

"Yeah, yeah. But this is exactly why I think you'd be a navigator. If we were on a starship and all."

"Because I can open blinds?"

"No, because you, I don't know. You always know what to do. Not like a captain would, I think they're more big-picture, like they put all the pieces in place, and expect everyone to do their jobs. Navigators just always know what to do. Like, details, coordinates, stuff like that."

"Oh," Bee says, just looks at him.

"Like you always know where to go." This brings that hurt look to Bee's face for barely a heartbeat, before Bee smiles to hide it.

"Then I think you should be a pilot. So that you actually get us there."

It's not until later, when he's lying in bed watching the slow shift of the lunar panels on the neighbouring roof, that Sam realizes something about what Bee said. Bee always says "us," like he expects to be near Sam forever. It's like they are one. Sam wouldn't have understood that before today, but with the newest memory, he remembers the first time he felt like they really were.

In some way, he almost still feels like that, but it's more like a phantom syndrome, like feeling something that's gone. It's why Sam didn't tell Bee about the part of the memory where he saw Bee's holo for the first time, because Sam's not sure what it means.

It shouldn't mean anything, it's just his best friend being there for him, but there's something else essential there. It was the first time it felt like Bee really and truly knew him, the way he knew something was wrong before even asking.

It's just like Bee said. He knows where they're supposed to go, and he's going to count on Sam to get them there. But now, Sam doesn't know how, can't even remember if he ever did.

When Bee looks at him, when he thinks Sam doesn't see, Sam knows there's a sorrow there Bee won't talk about. Sam just wants to know if it's because he's forgotten something amazing, or because he can't remember how terribly he failed Bee.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam hadn't set out with the intention to break the sink. He'd been in the rec room, and had noticed that there was a kitchen on the autobot floor, which had seemed rather pointless, and had wondered whether or not it was actually a functioning kitchen.

"C'mon…" Sam mutters under his breath, tugging on the handle harder, "just- freakin-  _budge-_ already- ah!" the handle jerks loose in his hand, and water explodes from the tap, proving that not only is the water hooked up, but the water pressure would make a fire hose jealous. "No no no no! Off! Off!" Sam ducks below the counter, one hand flailing for the handle. "Off- off- off- off!" A look over the counter only gets him a face full of water, and he dives back down again. After slipping off the handle again and again and a battle with the spraying water, he edges the handle down enough that the water shuts off. Sam draws in a slow breath, surveys the kitchen.  _Great, it looks like there's been a flood,_ Sam thinks, casting a quick glance at the door. The bots seem to be scattered about the city, and Sam just counts himself as fortunate that no one was there to witness the great sink disaster. On the downside, the sink doesn't seem the same as it was before he'd touched it, he can hear dripping from inside the cabinet, and he has no clue what to do about that.

"Why do they even have water in here, anyway?" Sam mutters to himself, pulling open the cabinet doors below the sink to investigate the dripping sound. "They don't even drink water. There's no  _point."_ There's something loose with the pipes, but he can't really hazard a better guess. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." His fingertips make clinking noises against the pipe as he tries to twist it one way, and then the other, and the noise still sends shivers through him, like feeling as if there's someone following him. It always seems to feel like there's someone else present, but it's always just him, so hard to recognize that he looks like someone else. The water keeps dripping with relentless enthusiasm.

"You'd never be able to put up with someone who's actually vain. You have no idea how hard that is." Sam ducks behind the open cabinet at the sound of the voice, from the room the kitchen overlooks.

"Yeah? How would you know, Swipe?"

"Because  _you're_ a narcissistic egomaniac!"

"That's like calling you a bad-tempered hothead," the other shoots back, "they're like synonyms."

"Right, Sun, like  _you_ don't have a temper."

"Least mine's not a fuckin'  _surprise._ "

Sam risks a glance over the counter; two bots are in the other room in their holo forms, and he only has time to recognize Sunstreaker before ducking back down so he can cower nearly inside the cabinet.

"Well maybe if you'd focus on something other than yourself, you'd see these things coming."

"I can focus on something other than myself," Sunstreaker snarls, "you want to see focussing?" There's a harsh noise, sounds like the couch being shoved back and into other furniture, and Sam tenses, half-formed thoughts dashing through his mind;  _is someone hurt did someone do something what should I do who's that other one is that the other twin what did who do to who-_ but his thoughts are curtly interrupted.

" _There,_ yeah, again-  _ow!"_ There's a thud, possibly someone hitting the floor, followed by the sound that Sam would guess to be the other one diving after the fallen one. "Yeah, you've proved your point, okay? Just- hold still for just a damn second, won't you-"

" _Oh."_ There's another banging sound, maybe a chair hitting the ground.

"We're not doing this here."

"What? Come back- hey! Swipe!"

"We're in the rec building."

"Yeah, wonderful, I noticed that, mind getting back here?"

"I have an idea," the other one purrs, "we go somewhere else, and I make it better."

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for the other room to go completely silent, the only sound the door as it closes behind them. Sam stares at the leaking pipes, and decides that this is suddenly the best place in the entire city to be- it's the only place he's certain he won't walk in on them.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam had promised Bee he wasn't going to get into trouble, and he had no intention of breaking that promise. He finds the university library easily, and the last thing he expects to stumble across is trouble.

He's only in the history section for four minutes when someone walks up behind him.

"Catching up?" a voice purrs in his ear, so low and smooth it makes him shiver. If Sam had felt like wondering whether he's attracted to guys or not, he wouldn't be able to doubt it much after yet another of these experiences. Sunstreaker reaches over his shoulder to turn the book in Sam's hand cover-up.  _The Silicon Rush,_ the cover reads,  _one hundred years of American technology, 2000-2100._ "Kind of dated," Sunstreaker says, his breath on the back of Sam's ear, "lot's happened in the last eighteen years. You'll want something newer." He sets a hand on Sam's shoulder, surprisingly warm, leans around him to pull a book off the shelf. "This one."

"You've read it?" Sam asks. The cover says  _Technological Advances of the Ancient World._ "And, uh, thought it was recent?" He looks over his shoulder at Sunstreaker.

"Actually, I just thought the cover looked shinier." Sunstreaker shrugs a shoulder, and smiles, slow and easy. "I like attractive things." Brown eyes fix on Sam's as Sun's smile curves into a smirk, just in case Sam hadn't caught the implication.

"Well- uh- most people- uh- do. I mean- bots. And people. Well," Sam stammers, "I guess we all do- well, I don't know, I'm not a bot- well, I guess I'm not a human either- kinda- a hybrid, but that makes me sound like one of those stupid little cars- but I guess- do those even exist anymore?" Sunstreaker just looks at him, eyes dark, and Sam doesn't think he's heard a word.

"I should probably get going," Sunstreaker says, "but I'll be sure to hunt you down later." That predatory look, all growling promise, makes Sam wonder if maybe he really is something like prey after all. Sam has to wonder, though, if he even minds.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Impatience feels tangible. Ratchet feels like it hangs in the air as a physical entity, even before Bumblebee says a word.

"Did you really-" Bee blurts out, practically bursting with energy in the medbay doorway, like he has to physically restrain himself from launching himself across the room and tearing through the files himself to find the answer. Ratchet beckons him forward into the room.

"Somewhat," Ratchet taps on the wall, and the images from Sam's brain scans appear on the screen built into the silver panels. "I know what the problem is." Beside him, Bee squints at the images, trying to make sense of them.

"Sam has a processor? Or- but-"

"Let me explain." Ratchet taps again, bringing up Sam's brain scans from a century ago, and those of a typical autobot, pulling them up alongside the most current image. "See, Sam is halfway between a brain and a processor. His brain has started changing, but it's not finished yet."

"Okay…" Bee's gaze goes from the computer-like processor over to the hundred-year-old image, then to the image in the middle, a mix of the two.

"When the Allspark made Sam an Autobot, all of Sam's old memories were turned into data files automatically. After the change, his brain didn't know how to retain all new memories his processor recorded. Do you understand?"

"He can't access any memories of what happened after the desert?" Bee gasps, whipping towards Ratchet. "Never again? But that can't happen! That can't! That can't!"

"He's already remembered some," Ratchet points out, "I don't know for certain what is going to happen. It appears as if Sam's memory is trying to restore itself and reformat into something he can access."

"Okay." Bee is trying to stay calm, and he's only doing a halfway decent job. "Okay. It's not hurting him in any way, right?"

"Correct."

"Okay. I can handle that, if he's definitely not being hurt." Bee looks up at Ratchet, "I mean, I waited for him to come back for a century. A little longer can't be too hard. He'll- he'll come back. Right?"

"Bumblebee…" sometimes, Ratchet hates his policy of honesty, hates it more than anything, because it's hard to remember that it's what he owes his comrades, that it's what's best for them, when he's faced with someone falling apart. "I can't say anything for certain."

Bee leaves the medbay in a shocked silence, hope too precarious to keep him steady. He doesn't see the bot outside the medbay until it's too late to avoid running into him. "Sorry," Bee mumbles, looks up to see that it's Sideswipe. The bot looks similar to his twin, his paint a different coloured shine, but he's so much easier to deal with.

"You alright, Bee?" he asks, concerned in a way Bee doubts his twin ever could be.

"Um. Okay, I guess. Just- the thing, with Sam's memory…" Bee shakes his head. "So, how's Sun?" he asks, just so Sideswipe won't ask anything about Sam.

"He's around somewhere. I'll catch you later, Bee," Sideswipe is gone within a second. Bee can't blame him. He would hate to feel like his life was paralleling something as miserable as what was happening with Sam. It's worse, Bee realizes, if there's nothing to blame.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam hasn't seen the sunset in a century. The buildings of the city block it from view at every angle, as if they were built to erase the sky. Where Bee brings him, however, is far enough away that the city becomes a skyline, silhouetted against the sinking sun instead of shielding it from view.

"What do you think?" Bee's holo appears beside where Sam sits on the Camaro hood, wearing a black jacket with yellow lettering.

"You can get cold?" Sam asks, and Bee nods.

"Well, yeah. We say it's a holo program, but it's really more… kind of like becoming a human, just being a bot inside. So it feels the same."

"Oh. That's cool." Sam tugs at the other side of the zippered jacket, grins when he sees the rest of the logo, "as if you follow hockey."

"It was yellow and black! I'm their biggest fan."

"Sure." Sam leans back on his hands, looks up at the sky. "We used to go out to a lake when I was little, for vacations, at this cabin. The sunset always looked like this." Bee doesn't say anything, and Sam wonders what he remembers. "I met Conner Lennox today," Sam says, and Bee looks up at him. "He looks exactly like Will."

"Will is his great, great grandfather. Will had a son, a little younger than Anabel."

"When… when did Will die?"

"In 2070."

"When-" Sam starts, but cuts off, puts his face in his hands and says nothing.

Bee wants to say something, anything, to somehow stop Sam from hurting, but everything he could do doesn't exist anymore, can't be real without Sam as the other half. All Bee can think of is how Sam can't remember all of the day Mikaela broke up with him, the day Bee really felt like Sam's best friend.

Before he can say anything, Sideswipe comms him. [Bee?] he sounds uncertain, almost like he doesn't entirely understand what he's saying, [you guys should get back here.]

[What's going on?]

[Someone's… someone just showed up,] his voice sounds faint in Bee's processor, [you're never going to believe this.] The comm. clicks off.

Bee looks over at Sam, silhouetted against the dusky sky, gives one last try to find something he can say that isn't built on a foundation that Sam can't remember.

"I know you didn't get a chance to say goodbye," he says softly, one hand on Sam's shoulder, "but… they got to say goodbye to you, in the end, and it meant a lot to them." These memories still burn at him, as clear as if he'd just stepped outside the hospital room, after seeing tears and hearing goodbyes. Sam's parents said goodbye, even though their son never was able to. He hadn't known when the last time he'd see them was, no one had known.

"Good," Sam whispers, "I would hate it if- if they couldn't."

 _I never got to,_ Bee thinks,  _the last time I saw you, I didn't know I'd never see you like that again._

They start the drive back to the city, but no matter how many times Bee tries to contact Sideswipe to ask what's going on, he can't get through.

"Bee?" Sam's staring out the window at the dark around them, "do you like it better now, or before?" Bee can't speak, can't breathe, has to focus to keep his holo from dissolving in a panic.

_Before, when you were human and I was so scared about the day you would have to die, or after, when I know you're going to live and be safe, but you're not really here?_

"Bee?"


	7. Chapter 7

Sideswipe didn't mention where all the bots were, so Bee stops at the medbay first, because while everybot is exasperated when Ratchet says he knows everything, he's basically right. The Camaro pulls up at the bot half of the medbay, and Sam sits on the curb to wait while Bee heads inside.

"Ratchet?" Bee looks in through the doorway, but the medic is nowhere in sight. What he does encounter, however, is a sulky Sunstreaker. He's seated on a metal table, glowering down at the floor, one hand cradled in the other. "Have you seen Ratchet, Sun?" Bee ventures. The golden mech doesn't look up.

"Went to get something."

"Oh." Bee's gaze travels down to Sunstreaker's hand, where the metal is scraped and dented. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Sunstreaker mutters, as Ratchet comes in through another doorway, making a disapproving noise.

"Let his temper get the better of him as usual," Ratchet says, "by partaking in the very productive activity of hitting a wall." Sunstreaker says nothing, just seethes in silence and glares at the floor like it offended him. "Although I suppose we should be thankful it was just a wall and not a bot." Sunstreaker still doesn't speak. Bee can practically feel the radiating anger, like a coiled energy barely kept under restraints. "Did you need something, Bumblebee?"

"Oh, uh, I was just told to come back- something about someone being here?" As he says this, Sunstreaker tenses, but doesn't offer anything. "And we were just wondering where everyone was."

"Hanger." Ironhide's voice comes from behind them, as he enters the medbay. "they're all over at the, uh, hanger."

"Great, thanks. Want to come?"

"No," Ironhide replies all-too quickly, then seems to backtrack, "uh, no, thanks. I'll stay here. And not go." Ironhide doesn't meet Bee's gaze, and Bee doesn't take the time to wonder. Instead, he returns to where Sam is waiting and transforms back into his alt form.

"So where?" Sam asks as they pull away from the curve.

"Hanger," Bee replies through the radio, "didn't say who it is though. Sun was there, Ratchet said he punched a wall. And Hide was there, and he was acting weird too." Bee pauses for a second, "okay, Hide was acting weird, but Sun hitting walls isn't so weird."

"So he's always a violent maniac."

"Something like that." The hanger comes into sight across the wide expanse of runway that flanks the city on the west side, and Bee increases his speed until they can finally see the group of bots, crowded around one thing.

It's not possible. It's not possible because Bee saw him die, they all saw him die, and if Sam can't come back after being unconscious for a century,  _he_ can't come back after being dead for a century.

It's Jazz.

It's not possible but it  _is,_ because he's here, really here, and it seems like he's come all the way back.

Bee transforms to follow Sam over to the hanger where Jazz, Prowl, and Sideswipe are, still in a numb sort of relief, because if Jazz could do it, if Jazz could be here-

"How?" Bee manages, looking up at the silver bot.

"Reactivated by the Allspark's energy release," Jazz says, that same easy tone as always, "an' I detected a signal search, followed it out here. What were y'all searchin' for, anyhow?"

"Any decepticons," Prowl explains, "there've been signs of attempted infiltration, but they couldn't break past the new firewalls."

"Really? Well, 's good. What's new 'bout 'em?" Jazz asks, and it's a little eerie, seeing the second and third in command talking again. If there only wasn't a different sky above them, a different city about them, it's like they're back on Cybertron. Beside him, though, Sam is looking up at them, listening with eyes wide with awe, and something in Bee doesn't miss being anywhere else anymore, just another time.

"The backdoor to the firewall is internal. You can't break in, but there's a coding path out from the inside." Prowl smiles, "it was really difficult, finding a way to make it one way only."

"Who figured it out?"

"Ironhide did," Prowl looks around then, and his smile dims slightly, "where'd he go? He was right here."

"Left a while ago," Sideswipe shrugs, "said he was gonna check on Sun, or something."

"Sun okay?" Prowl frowns slightly, and Sideswipe looks away.

"I've no idea."

Maybe by now, his casual lack of care would have stopped surprising Bee, but it still stops him every time. From the hesitant, jaded sound to Sideswipe's words, it still doesn't sound normal to him either, and that's why Bee still can't understand.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

When Ratchet is gone, the medbay is always silent, like everything within its walls is too terrified to step out of line in his absence, mechs included. Ironhide can't stand the eerie quiet; whenever Ratchet is there, the building is filled to the brim with sound, but once the medic leaves, everything goes still. Even Sunstreaker, waiting for the calibration machine to finish scanning and repairing his hand, is silent.

"So," Ironhide comes over to lean on the end of the table, watch the little floating machine whir around Sunstreaker's hand, "what made you flip out?"

"I didn't," Sunstreaker snaps, every muscle tense, "nothing."

"Yeah, sure." He looks pointedly at the machine, as it makes soft beeps and continues scanning, "normal behaviour."

"Who the frag cares what I do? This is normal for me. Why'd  _you_ leave?" Sunstreaker shoots back. Ironhide looks away, straightens from the table.

"No reason."

"Yeah, and I guess that's the same no reason that you're a fragging nervous wreck, right?"

"I'm not," Ironhide grinds out. The machine makes a sharp beeping noise, pauses where it hovers. Its scanning ray goes from red to blue as it sweeps over Sunstreaker's hand. "Beside, you're the one that hit a wall."

"So we've established."

"Uh-huh. What, weren't happy to see Jazz?"

"I'm fine with Jazz," Sunstreaker replies coolly. "It's you that couldn't even be around him."

"Of course I could!" Ironhide hates arguing with Sunstreaker, doesn't know how Sideswipe puts up with it; everything he says is dismissed, and then fired back at him. It's nerve-wracking, because everything he says is always true.

"Which is exactly why you left."

"I left because-" Ironhide falls silent. "It was just an awkward situation. I didn't want to get in the middle of it."

"Couldn't handle it, more like." The machine hovering around his hand floats in place, makes a series of beeps.

"Examination and re-calibration complete," it says in a tinny voice, "calibration at one hundred percent."

" _Look,"_ Ironhide finally spits, "can you blame me? I'm as happy as anybot to see Jazz again, but I just didn't want to get in the middle of everything."

"What slaggin'  _everything?"_

"I just- look, you've heard the rumour about Prowl," Ironhide snaps, and Sunstreaker huffs out a sigh.

"Yeah, for the last fraggin' forever. So he's got a thing for somebot, see if I care," he shrugs, brushes it off in a way Ironhide's never been able to.

"I heard it's Jazz," Ironhide blurts out before he can stop himself, "do you get why it'd be awkward now?" Sunstreaker just looks at him, and Ironhide can't discern a single emotion; he's never been sure if it's because Sunstreaker is unfathomable, or because there's really nothing there.

"Who the frag cares about a rumour like that?"

"Anyone with a  _spark,_ Sunstraeker," Ironhide snarls, glaring down at him, hating all that impassiveness on Sunstreaker's face, "do you even know what sympathy  _is?_ Because you sure as pit aren't  _capable_ of having any!" He storms out without hearing another word from Sunstreaker.

It's not until later that Ironhide realizes he was wrong. Sunstreaker was giving him sympathy, but more than that, giving him empathy.  _Who the frag cares about a rumour like that,_ he'd said, because he wasn't saying just that at all. He was saying,  _it's not definite, there's still hope._  Ironhide's never been able to understand what isn't said, but for once, it might not be his fault entirely, because Sunstreaker's never made himself easy to understand.

Ironhide doesn't blame himself until he realizes why Sunstreaker couldn't stand to be around Jazz. Then, suddenly and with so much dread, it all makes perfect sense.

O0o0o0o0o0o

"I mean, would  _you_ let a psycho alien freak onto  _your_ starship?" Sam throws his hands in the air, "who beside Kirk would do that?"

"In a matter of speaking, you did," Bee points out, smirking. Sam rolls his eyes.

"You're not a psycho freak, and I don't have a starship."

"It's a similar situation."

"Not unless you start making people vanish into thin air, it isn't."

"Well," Bee grins over at Sam, "that can be arranged."

He's missed Sam like this, missed him so much, but even this hurts. It hurts because they've  _had_ this conversation. It was so much like this, too. Sitting side-by-side on a couch, watching the Star Trek episode where the teenager Kirk agrees to take to Earth Colony five turns out to have strange mind powers that can make crewmembers disappear, they had this conversation before, a century ago. Sometimes, Bee hates that they've known each other for more than a century but don't really at all, hates that it's just empty time.

"Vulcans must be great at pain management," Sam remarks, as they watch Spock inform Kirk that his legs are broken. "And he doesn't seem all that mad about it, either."

"Kirk's doing that for him." Bee has always loved this next part. The teenage kid has stated that he'll let Kirk stay, because he needs Kirk to run the ship, and Kirk says he has to let Spock free, too.

"I need him," Kirk says, all conviction and anger like fire, ready to burn down anything that dares stand in his way, burn it all down to get what he needs. It's this fierce protectiveness that Bee loves, makes him hurt and long for things he didn't have for nearly long enough.

"He's so in love with Spock," Sam shakes his head, "man, listen to the way he says that. And he doesn't say 'I need him to run the ship, either. Just ' _I need him.'"_

"I don't think Kirk's in love with Spock," Bee says, drawing his knees up to his chest and staring down at the denim.

"But there's so much evidence of it! Like that part where Kirk tells the psycho kid how to have a relationship." Sam watches with rapt attention as Kirk throws the teenager into a prison cell. He's always claimed he watches this just because Bee wants to, but Bee's caught him watching it by himself before.

"And?" Bee blinks away tears, glad Sam isn't looking at him.  _You see this between them,_ he thinks, fights to keep the frustrated anger away,  _you see all the signs of what_ _ **they**_ _feel._

"And he said to take it slow! And every single chick Kirk's ever gone after, it's been like, instant sex." Sam says this with the same excited sureness as he did last time, "except he takes things slow with Spock! Who else in the universe is he so careful with?"

"I dunno," Bee shrugs a shoulder, increases his efforts to keep his voice even, "I just don't see it."

"I'll convince you someday," Sam smiles, and something in Bee just dies. Sam almost had him convinced, so many years ago, with the episode that became Bee's favourite. But Sam doesn't remember even that small victory.

"I love this part. Kirk is just such a genius," Sam rolls his eyes, snickering, "yeah, let's defeat the psycho teenager by _turning on all the lights!_  Man, what a killer plan."

Bee had hoped that doing the same things they used to would bring back some memory, but nothing is working. Only the restorative surgical procedures have managed to bring back any memories, and in such little gains, with such great risks. It's just another bout of unfairness, that the only thing in the world Bee wants only comes through such a risky situation.

Only that danger brings the memories, as if they are offerings, or perhaps just the sweetest temptation.


	8. Chapter 8

Ratchet has never been very good at apologizing. He claims it's because he's never had to practice; in truth, it's just because he can't stand to admit he's made a mistake. Admitting he's made a single mistake always makes it feel like he's opening the flood gates to find hundreds more.

"So…" He glances over his shoulder at Jazz, who is leaning against the medbay wall, watching him repair a calibration monitor. "I believe I owe you an apology." Jazz looks mildly bewildered at this admission.

"Ya do?" he asks, "I don' remember anything you need 'ta be sorry for, Ratchet."

"I know." Ratchet turns to face him, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

"There was never anything ya could do. An' I'm here now, and I'm gonna credit it to you for keeping me in good condition up till that point," Jazz smiles, and it's enough to reassure Ratchet that Jazz doesn't hate him for such a failure. "After all, some things, ya just can't save, an' no one can."

"I know," Ratchet says softly, but they can both hear the  _but I should be able to_ that he doesn't say. "But I wish I could have." He turns back to the calibration monitor, but he can still feel Jazz's optics on him.

"Have you heard from the Ark yet?" Jazz asks, and it's not hard, not at all, to follow the track he took to wonder about that.

In all the world,  _he's_ the one Ratchet wishes, more than anything, he could have saved, no matter how impossible, how out of his hands the entire situation was.

"Not yet," he says, "we're still… we're still waiting." It's getting endlessly harder to wait, just wait, and not start to fear the absolute worst.

"Can I ask ya somethin'?" Jazz shuffles around, leans back against the wall. "How come ya didn't stay on the Ark?"

"Optimus decided the Earth team needed my medical services," Ratchet says tightly.

"You wanted to go?"

"It was an order." Ratchet's grip tightens on the laser in his hand.

"I know," Jazz says gently, "did you want to go?"

"No. Not at all. I hated leaving- leaving him. And Prime knew that." Ratchet stares down at the table.

"He understood that, and still-"

"Prime did not and still does not  _understand,"_ Ratchet says sharply, then falls silent. "I should not be taking this out on you."

"It's fine," Jazz assures him, walking around to lean on the table across from him, "So Prime still doesn't get it."

"Not in the slightest. He is as apathetic as the day he ordered me to join the Earth team and leave my sparkmate behind." Ratchet cycles in a breath slowly, "Prime is a bot who puts duty before self. It is a respectable, even admirable quality, except when applied to your own situation."

"You're sayin' he didn't care 'bout your relationship and still doesn't," Jazz shakes his head, "'m sorry, Ratch. 'S the kinda situation where nobody wins."

"That is very true." Neither speaks for a moment, silence slinking in to fill the medbay for a few long moments.

"You think the Ark is alright?" Jazz asks finally. Ratchet can't answer for a while, but there's only one answer he can honestly give that won't tear him apart.

"I think I would feel it if my other half died."

He says he thinks he would, but truly, he just hopes. All he can do is hope that there would be some sort of warning before finding that the worse has happened without even a disturbance in time. Suspended as they all are between homes, even the most terrible things can happen without anyone ever knowing of the destruction.

Even stars die unseen, unfelt deaths.

o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0oo

"So, is patrol boring?" Sam adjusts his seat far enough back that it's nearly flat, and Bee, holo-form, dives across the backseat to avoid him.

"When you're in class, it sure is." Bee grins over at him, "I mean, how much fun can driving in circles around the city be?"

"Sounds like it beats being in class." Outside the windows of the Camaro, there's just dust and desert, empty miles to their left and the outline of the city to the right. One of the tallest buildings, with the most impossible arch to its swaying sides, is the university where Bee picked Sam up that afternoon.

"Well, it's all relative." Bee shrugs, runs his fingers through his blonde hair, "after all, when you're here, it's way more interesting." He watches as Sam adjusts his seat again, "you're already  _in_ the backseat, it can't get any further back."

"Just checking," Sam sits up, "because I'm pretty positive you've got better seats than Ironhide."

"Well," Bee snorts, "that's a given right there. He's a  _truck."_

"And you've got the smallest backseat ever. I mean, you can barely stick a box back here."

"That's what the trunk's for!"

"But what if I want to just toss it in the backseat?" Sam protests.

"My backseat is now too good for your box. You can carry it."

"Carry it? Man, maybe I should take Ironhide instead."

"Except his seats suck," Bee reminds him, and Sam laughs.

"Fine. I'll carry my box." He pauses for a second. "I don't actually have a box."

"But if you ever did, I guess I would consider letting you put it in the backseat." Bee climbs over the console and sprawls across the driver's seat, back against the steering wheel and legs stretched before him in a manner that would alarm any passing drivers. "So, what classes did you have today?"

"Calculus and political science," Sam replies, "which were boring as usual. And, oh, then there was astronomy, that was interesting."

"You have a sudden interest in stars, or just shiny things in general?" Bee smiles, and his amber eyes light up with amusement.

"Yeah right," Sam laughs, "no, there was just this new girl sitting next to me, and she was pretty funny. Kept renaming all the constellations. Like the little dipper is now the inferior measuring cup." Sam looks out the window, where there's nothing to see. "She's a lot like Mikaela is- was- actually. It's funny." He sighs out a breath, looks back at Bee, "made me remember when I started college the first time. Starting classes with her, and everything." Bee whips towards him, but Sam's back to staring out the window, and doesn't see.

"What?" Bee says softly. "You remember- starting college with Mikaela?"

"Yeah. Science class." Sam shakes his head, doesn't look at Bee again.

"But Sam-" Bee starts, suddenly falls silent. "Never mind. Remember anything else?"

"Well, uh, now that you mention it…" Sam hesitates, "there's this thing that I remembered that I, um, I sort of didn't mention." He looks up, steels himself for whatever Bee's going to say, "I remember the first time I saw your holo form. If that's, um, if that's important." He waits, watches Bee, because maybe Bee will see that he's admitting more than he can grasp himself. Bee looks away.

"Oh," Bee says, in a distant voice that says that it's not important, not anymore, if it ever was at all.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sideswipe can always tell when Sunstreaker is in a terrible mood. Even if there wasn't that impenetrable silence between them, there's the tearing speed and the sharp corners, the wide sweep around the city, the thoroughness that doesn't come from strength of character but from frustration and avoidance. It's Sunstreaker's turn on outside patrol, not Sideswipe's, but he's never been more afraid than when Sunstreaker takes outside patrol alone. It would be too easy for Sunstreaker to leave, to leave him and  _never come back._ There's nothing Sideswipe would be able to do, but at least seeing Sunstreaker reassures him, just enough to keep him going.

_It's okay, he's right here, right here, for this second, he's still with me._

"It's not your patrol shift," Sunstreaker finally comm's him, voice taut with the last threads of patience.

"I know," Sideswipe sends back, speeding up to draw level with the other Lamborghini.

"What, couldn't stand to be without me?" Sunstreaker says, so sharp and biting, it would kill Sideswipe to tell him he's exactly correct.

"I fragging hate you, remember?" Sideswipe snarls back instead.

"So why come?"

"What else have I got to do?" Sideswipe says, speeds up even more to keep up with Sunstreaker's racing pace.

"Well, I'm sure you would have been able to come up with something," Sunstreaker snaps, so much hatred and anger compacted into his voice that it makes Sideswipe's spark stall, shatter a little more, nothing he can't handle, "after all,  _Jazz_ is back, isn't he?"

Wheels spin and sunlight flashes off golden paint, and Sideswipe can't move, can't bring himself to go after Sunstreaker, he just can't.

It isn't the first time, but this time, it isn't because Sideswipe is the one who's hurt. He's no stranger to this guilt; every time, it makes him wonder how Sunstreaker is able to live with it, but he doesn't wonder until later.

Now, there's just the guilt, guilt that can only come from hurting his sparkmate.

No stranger at all.


	9. Chapter 9

" _Tell me again why tourists want to come here?" Sam grumbled, trudging up the mountain after Bee's holoform. Bee scampered on ahead easily, and Sam didn't know whether it was because he couldn't feel exhaustion, or whether he was just that much more in shape._

" _It's beautiful out here!" Bee spread his arms, looking over his shoulder at Sam and grinning. "You could make a hundred of those cool post-letters out of this view!"_

" _Those would be postcards. And. Let me rephrase," Sam panted, "why do_ _ **you**_ _want to come here? It's a freakin' vertical cliff! Straight up and down!" He waved his hands up and down to demonstrate._

" _You aren't adventurous enough, Sam."_

" _I hardly think my sense of adventure is the problem here," Sam caught up as Bee paused to wait for him, "I think it's more like my athleticism. You said this was a mile long!"_

" _We-ell," Bee flashed that grin again, "one mile… two… four…maybe my distance monitors are off!"_

" _Or maybe you're just a liar._ _Why'd you pick this mountain trek again?"_

" _You'll see once we get to the top," Bee grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him up the path, babbling the entire way, "I looked up a bunch of things to do here, and this looked like the best. And it looks amazing at the top! I'm so glad your parents decided to let you do this road trip thing. I always thought road trips sounded so boring- just driving! But, ah, this isn't that, is it? This is so much more exciting!"_

" _Road trips tend to be exciting when your car is also your best friend," Sam said, and by now, he was expecting the little shock of delight at the way Bee beamed at him. And the way Bee looked, whenever Sam mentioned how much Bee meant to him, it was like he'd somehow given Bee the whole world. Maybe losing Mikaela had been freeing something else, because now, there was a whole new dimension between him and Bee, one he'd never allowed himself to investigate. It wasn't just the tousled blonde hair and bright amber eyes and easy smile of his holo form. There was the way Bee talked fast when he was excited and the way he lit up when he was fascinated, his boundless curiosity and intense interest in everything. There was everything Sam was ever looking for, and it turned out he was right, no one on Earth could have been perfect for him._

" _Isn't it amazing?" Bee exclaimed when they reached the top of the mountain, turning shining amber eyes to the spectacular view spread out before them, breathless._

" _Like nothing else on Earth," Sam said, but he was looking only at Bee._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Bee hates the hospital waiting room. He hates the whole hospital, but there are two places in it he hates most, and this is one of them. The waiting room is the second worst, because it's nowhere at all. It's not where anything happens. The only thing that ever happens in here, with the black armchairs and clean carpet and blank walls, is waiting, an activity that has no product and no proof of existence. The room is removed from the places where anything happens, and Bee is often here alone, as even the front desk is across a plane of tile, separate enough to feel miles away.

"Bumblebee," Ratchet's voice is as familiar as anything here, the only welcome thing to be found anywhere. Bee jumps up, looks at Ratchet with hopeful, worried eyes. "It went fine." He used to add that Bee didn't have to wait, that everything they did was calculated and mechanical, and there wasn't any risk, but he's stopped saying that, because Bee has never left. "Just replaced his liver and stomach, and some skin grafts." He leads Bee down the hallway and up a flight of stairs before Bee says anything.

"About his memory-" he says, quietly, as if there was a chance Ratchet wouldn't hear him and validate his fears.

"Did he remember something else?" Ratchet stops before Sam's closed door, frowns down at Bee. Bee stares at the floor.

"He remembered something that never happened."

There would have been s no real way for Bee to fully comprehend the look on Ratchet's face then, had it not been everything Bee was feeling. There's his initial elation, that Sam remembered anything at all, that broke into a thousand pieces of disbelieving agony. There's all his horror and splitting worry, the kind that took him to pieces and left him with the memory of wholeness to torture him.  _You feel this?_ the brief flash of memory seems to be sneering,  _this is how it would feel to have hope, and now this, this is what fear feels like._

"Is he still going to get better?" Bee asks, his voice just a hoarse whisper, and Ratchet nods.

"I'll do everything I can."

Bee has always wondered whether Ratchet truly has all the confidence in his words, or whether he just pretends for them, and Bee doesn't want to lose faith in him, not now. If there's anything he wants to believe in, it's Ratchet, saying that Sam will someday come all the way back to him.

"I want to see him," Bee says, and it's almost like a plea. He begs for this every time, and Ratchet still has yet to take him to  _his Sam._

Sam's hospital room is the place in the hospital that Bee hates the most. It's not just that he wishes that Sam didn't' have to be here, but that's a huge part of why he hates this room with everything that he is. It's  _wrong_ that Sam has to be here, but aside from that, there's plenty more for Bee to hate. He hates it because it scares him to death. The IV in the crook of Sam's arm or the back of his hand, the way he has to sleep on his back even though Bee knows he doesn't like that, the way a drop of blood on the sheets looks even worse against all that white blankness, the rails alongside the bed, the wall of monitors behind him, the awkward tilt of the bed, the IV machine that makes halting sounds and glows in the darkness. Bee hates how, for days afterward, there's still the residue of tape on the inside of Sam's elbow, impossible to scrub away, and it just stays there like a sickening reminder. Bee hates the way Sam sleeps after he's woken up, the way he'll open his eyes every couple minutes, as if to make sure he's not alone. He hates that Sam's scared. That hurts Bee more than anything else in this horrible room.

Bee pulls a chair up to Sam's bedside, and doesn't have to wait too long until Sam's waking up, blinking at him and looking more weary than confused. He used to wake up and not recognize where he was; now, he seems to know, have resigned him to it, and Bee hates that this is what Sam knows. There are so many places that have been home to them, so much that is familiar, and this is what Sam would recognize.

"Hey," Bee whispers, smiles because it's always a relief, seeing Sam awake again. "Feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Sam returns the smile weakly, "but I'll probably set off some more metal detectors now." Bee doesn't fully understand Ratchet's plan for Sam; he hates to think that Ratchet doesn't discuss it because he doesn't know if Sam will survive it.

"It's okay, I'll wait with you while airport security frisks you." This makes Sam laugh.

"Oh, speaking of airports and stuff." Sam suddenly finds his hands fascinating, and Bee doubts it's because of his metal palms, "remember that road trip we took? And you wanted to hike that totally vertical mountain?"

Bee could live on the happiness that blitzes through him in that moment; it kills him, though, less than a spark beat later, because this truly  _is_ what he's living on. There's nothing else keeping him alive at this point.

This, this fleeting, flimsy glance at what he used to have, this is  _it._

o0o0o0o0o0o

"So are you not speaking to me, or have you decided I don't even exist anymore?" Sideswipe's question gains no response from Sunstreaker, who is glaring at the floor. Sunstreaker has his knees drawn up to his chest, just like Sideswipe, the space so cramped that they're almost touching. Sideswipe leans against the back of the armchair, studies the wall behind Sunstreaker. "I can't remember doing anything to piss you off recently."

"Typical," Sunstreaker scoffs, sweeps his reddish-brown bangs out of his eyes. Sideswipe has the absurd urge to reach out and run his fingers through Sunstreaker's hair, but he clenches his hands into fists instead. The door to the rec room opens, and they hear two sets of footsteps.

"I doubt they would be in here," Prowl's voice floats over the armchair, "this factors in lower on the list of places they would consider as hiding places."

"That so?" Jazz says, and Sideswipe sees it, the furious look that flickers across Sunstreaker's eyes. "How do you figure it all?"

"I take into a ccounts factors such as proximity, availability, occupants-"

"Gotcha," Jazz laughs, "well, let's head out then, an' check out the more likely places on that list 'o yours." The door closes and they hear the distant ping of the elevator. Sideswipe studies the chiseled cut of Sunstreaker's cheekbones, the downturn of his smirk, the dark something that smolders in his eyes that has been there for a long time, but not forever, definitely not forever.

"Does Jazz seem different to you?" Sideswipe blurts out, because it keeps him from saying  _what happened to you that made this happen to us,_ because Sunstreaker would hate him, hate him because he already  _knows_ the answer to that. Sunstreaker might not hate him for pretending not to know what happened, and Sideswipe's terrified to see what else Sunstreaker might come up with, see what comes after hate.

"How the hell should I know?" Sunstreaker spits.

"I mean, he's just…. Different. He's not musical anymore, you know? Kinda- different."

"So he changed," Sunstreaker says flatly, "I assume dying and coming back to life does that to you." He shifts around a little, and when his knees brush against Sideswipe's, there's an electric current, one they both try so hard not to feel anymore. "Why're you so surprised to see he's changed? Everybot does."

"I guess… he's just suddenly this entirely different bot, you know? But he's not. The same, but different enough to be… not the same."

"No one cares." Sunstreaker slides up the wall until he's on his feet, climbs over the back of the couch. "Next time you're shocked to find out somebot has, outside your notice, changed, don't bother telling me. I'm sure I'll already know."

He walks out, and Sideswipe stays where he is, out of sight in the corner.

Maybe if he'd been paying close attention to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe would have seen when he changed, too. He doesn't even know if it was gradual or all at once. Maybe his fury was, a moment ago, happiness. Maybe happiness turned into worry, into suspicion, into dread, into regret, into fury.

He should have been watching. Even if it hurt too much to see his lover fall apart, he should have had the strength to watch. He owed Sunstreaker that much at least.


	10. Chapter 10

It's almost midnight, and Sam is the only one in his apartment. This feels more strange than he can really understand the reason for, like this is out of the natural order of things and he just doesn't know  _why._ As he keeps reminding himself, it's really not that inexplicable. Bee does have things he has to do around the city, and the buildings are spread out all around the area. He did say he'd be back around five, but maybe he got assigned something else to do. It certainly isn't unheard of. Still, Sam can't quite shake the feeling that this is stranger than he understands, and it sinks into him, weighs him down. It reminds him of when he loses his keys, and even though he knows they're in the apartment, there's still that panicked feeling that creeps up on him, like some part of him knows there's something wrong and that there's disaster impending.

Normally, Sam would brush it of as being all in his head, but that's the problem. His whole past is locked in his mind, that's where  _everything_ is, and he can no longer tell when he's imagining things, or when something he almost remembers is seeping through that locked door.

Waiting up at least makes him feel like he's doing something, even if he's really not. Watching Star Trek on mute while lying on his couch at eleven forty-seven isn't helping anything. He turns up the volume, ignoring the click of his metal fingertips against the remote. It's Bee's favourite episode, and for some reason, Sam finds himself staring at the stylus Spock holds behind his back, as if there's some meaning there. It almost feels like there has to be, but Sam's never been one for noticing symbolism or anything of the sort.

"I suppose most of us overlook the fact that even Vulcans aren't indestructible," Kirk is saying, leaves Spock's room.

"No…" Spock says to the empty room, "we're not."

It's already halfway through the episode when the apartment door opens, and Bee trudges in.

"Hey," Sam twists around to see him. Bee offers a half-hearted smile, yawns.

"Sorry 's so late…" he mumbles, and as Sam watches in silence, wanders over to the couch and collapses nearly on top of him. "Stupid con stuff. Uggghhhh." He groans and closes his eyes, still flopped down next to Sam. Sam's panic has mostly faded away, but the feeling that there's something he's just not grasping still lingers.

"Con stuff? What? Wait, what?"

"There was… umm, in Engineering. Infltrationimggg." The rest of the word is lost in a yawn, and Bee scoots in closer against Sam, "'filtration."

"Infiltration?"

"Uh-huh. That."

"Did you guys-"

"It's all okay now." One hand closes around Sam's shirt, clutching like he's used to this, "stopped it. So fragging difficult, took hours."

"What's happening now?"

"Nothin'. All okay now."

Sam just nods, doesn't ask anything further. Onscreen, Spock addresses McCoy about the supposed death of Kirk, stating that he would order Scotty to take command of the ship.

"Don't you think you better check with me first?" Kirk says from behind him. Sam turns it off before the part where Spock lights up at the sight of Kirk alive. Some part of his mind offers up the memory, though, but it doesn't fit. The voices aren't the same, and he can't make out the name.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sideswipe can start to feel panic swell up in him, that frenzied, hysterical panic that threatens to overtake him. Optimus's calm, level gaze isn't helping, and it's like he's already decided, already set in his decision. "I understand, Sideswipe, but I can't ignore-"

"You can't say that there hasn't been a misreading before!" Sideswipe insists, even as all the monitoring equipment surrounding them in the Engineering building blares the evidence on its screens, cripplingly undeniable, but fighting is the only thing he can do. "I honestly think it's a mistake, some kind of malfunction. Doesn't that count for anything?" he pleads, and for some reason, this makes Optimus pause.

"Yes," he says, looks down at Sideswipe with more kindness, and Sideswipe can barely believe it, barely understand that somehow, somehow everything isn't over. "I can count on your beliefs, Sideswipe. But I can't do it twice, do you understand?"

"I do," Sideswipe breathes, "I just- thank you. I know it- I know it couldn't have been-" he can't manage any more words, relief crushing down everything else. Optimus just nods, turns back to the monitors.

"I want you to know one thing, though," he adds as Sideswipe starts to leave. Sideswipe stops, turns back. Optimus doesn't turn, still seemingly studying monitors. "If it does happen again, I absolutely will not blame you." It's an extended kindness, but all it does is hurt.  _Maybe you're wrong,_ Optimus is really saying,  _I wouldn't blame you for blindly believing he's something you want him to be, something he's not._ It hurts, because Sideswipe really  _wants_ to believe that Sunstreaker wasn't the one that enabled the cons to attack them.

Being wrong about this- it would mean he has been wrong about everything.

O0o0o0o0o

There are only a few places Sam can find without getting lost, and the medbay is one of them. Halfway there, though, he hears yelling from down the side street he normally takes to the medbay.

"-you could be fucking grateful!" someone is shouting, not a voice Sam can recognize fast enough.

"Grateful?" someone else sneers, and Sam's almost sure, almost- "you saw how they didn't even think to doubt it! If it were anyone else, don't you think they would have paused to think it might not be right?"

"You can't change what they think, but you can be glad they aren't throwing you out of here-"

"I fucking know I can't! Don't you think I've noticed that?"

"Get the frag over it, Sunny. There's more to worry about than that- you weren't even  _there_ yesterday-" There's dead silence, like all the words either ever had for the other have been used up, like there's nothing between them anymore.

Sam takes another route, anything to avoid walking in on the twins doing the one thing worse than he's normally afraid of walking in on.

Familiarity with anything like a hospital has always seemed like a dismal thing to Sam. Knowing nurse rotations and IV placements and the order of information on forms and how to have blood drawn and the way the IV's monitor blinks light into the darkness, the way the room is never dark, it's never seemed optimistic. Knowing that all always seems like some sort of sentence, a punishment to show him how terrible things are. Visiting the medbay on the bot side, however, seems to function as a way to avoid everything he knows. Its mysterious unfamiliarity is comforting.

"Hello, Sam," Ratchet says, looks over from some machinery, "it's rather fascinating how you have to be all-but dragged in here for check-ups, but on days they aren't schedule, you just waltz in here completely willingly. It borders on mocking."

"Something about not being examined makes it more bearable," Sam says, sitting on one of the large metal tales. "But. Actually. Um. I had a sort of question."

"Yes?"

"Well…" now that he's here, it seems much harder to ask than it had seemed back in his apartment. "The thing is… I was sort of wondering… how… um… how human am I?" The question doesn't seem to shock Ratchet as much as Sam dreaded it might. Then again, Sam reminds himself again, Ratchet has seen just about everything. Ratchet turns towards him, examines him critically.

"Does it matter?"

"I… well…" some part of him wanted to accept this as an answer, even as the rest screamed to know, to know what he was now, whether he was still who he thought of himself as. He's already lost everything, woke up to his whole world gone, and losing himself, it would be the last thing that matters, the only he's managed to hold onto after all this time.

"Let me ask you something," Ratchet says then, "does it matter to you, if Bee is human?"

"Of course not," Sam answers automatically, then stops.

Even if he has lost himself, there's still Bee. In some way that Sam can't understand, wonders if even thousand-year-old bots could, Bee helps define him. Maybe it doesn't matter if he's human, maybe being human isn't as vital to who he is as knowing Bee is.

"You see?" Ratchet turns back to his work, "that sort of thing doesn't matter."

"Okay…" Sam sits in silence for a moment, then goes on, "you know that whole sparkmates thing?"

"Yes, Sam, I know about that whole sparkmates thing of which you speak," Ratchet answers dryly, "assuming you are referring to the pre-destined lover of an Autobot."

"Yeah…" Sam draws in a breath, "does every bot have one? Just one?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"So- so-" this strikes him harder than he'd care to admit. "If a bot already has one, no one else could- do you think there'd be- the possibility that- I mean, what if you weren't-"

"I believe true love conquers all," Ratchet says, and Sam just stares.

"True love conquers all," he repeats, stunned, "that's like- is that poetry? Or song lyrics? Or something?"

"Ironhide told me to be less cynical and scientific, as he says," Ratchet adds, disdain

heavy in his tone and he rolls his optics, "But if you want the scientific, testable reason- yes, there is a second possibility for the sparkmate. Only twins have just one perfect match."

"Oh. Okay." Instantly, the twins' screaming match comes to mind, echoing in its loudness. "Speaking of twins- they were, uh, I just- fighting?"

"And you find this surprising?" Ratchet shrugs a shoulder, "especially given the circumstances surrounding the last con infiltration. I can imagine relations would be strained at best."

"What circumstances?"

"You don't know?" Ratchet looks mildly surprised at this, but then seems to understand something and shakes his head, "well, Bumblebee doesn't know either, I suppose that explains it. The con infiltration happened in the Engineering building, and they were hacking into the equipment from a remote location." Sam just nods, understanding only about every other word Ratchet says. "And the only way that is possible is if the firewalls are let down from the inside."

"So- it was, what, an inside job or something?"

"So to speak. We checked the records for who had last entered the building, to find out who may have enabled the cons to hack into the network."

"And?"

"The last bot, it seems, was Sunstreaker."

This sinks into Sam slowly, and once he understands, it's like being slammed with shock. "You guys think- Sunstreaker might have- that's- that's  _betrayal,"_ he splutters, and Ratchet nods.

"Sideswipe convinced Optimus that it was a misreading of the system."

"Was it?"

"Sam," Ratchet says, something like exasperation to his tone, "if you haven't already noticed, I  _don't_ have all the answers in the universe." Hearing him say it shatters something in Sam, because believing someone knew everything made it a little easier to deal with the unknown. Ridiculous, Sam knows, but there was some comfort in his false belief.

Despite that, though, there's something Ratchet knows, knowledge Sam doesn't know if he craves or fears.

"Can I ask you one thing more?" he asks. Ratchet huffs out an intake and nods. Sam can't, though. He knows he would feel terrible about it. "Never mind…"

More than anything, he wants to know if Bee was ever in love with someone, but asking anyone but Bee would seem like betrayal.

At the same time, asking Bee seems like it would be setting himself up for a heartbreak he may have already suffered through.


	11. Chapter 11

Prowl had always prided himself on being above frivolity, but, as he has discovered, this is false on more accounts than he had thought possible. Not only has Ironhide constantly convinced him to partake in frivolity such as their invented game, but Prowl had enjoyed it more than he had thought he could. He couldn't imagine letting anyone know he could be so foolish and enjoy it so much, but Ironhide made it feel acceptable. The way he'd smiled when Prowl had confessed that he'd enjoyed their game, it was like he'd expected it of Prowl, like he'd always known.

And yet, Ironhide has been avoiding him. It's almost like he's changed his mind, like he's decided Prowl is no longer worth his time- again, Prowl has to shut the thought out of his mind. He jabs the button for the elevator again, only to realize that it's already arrived, has been waiting placidly for some time now.  _Off orbiting another planet?_ Ironhide would have smirked, but he's not here, and Prowl's spent the past hour searching for him. Looking for Ironhide has become a near-daily activity for the past week, more difficult every day.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn't find Ironhide. Only Jazz, Sam and Bee are there, playing a video game. As he looks on, Bee wails in frustration as his character drops to the ground.

"Gotcha!" Jazz chirps, and Bee growls. "Man, Bee, you need better hiding spots."

"No kidding," Sam grins over at Bee from beside him on the couch. Bee mutters something unintelligible, but there's an obvious half-smile on his face. It's almost haunting, watching them, even as it's heartbreaking.

"Has anyone seen Ironhide?" Prowl says, coming to stand behind the couch. Sam shakes his head no, as does Bee.

"Not since this mornin'," Jazz supplies, "weren't you lookin' for him yesterday too?"

"Yes," Prowl says tightly, "and every other day this week as well." Jazz stands, walks out of the room with Prowl.

"I don't really know what to tell ya, Prowl," Jazz frowns, those calm brown eyes on Prowl, "It doesn't make sense that he'd avoid ya, ya know?"

"Yes…" Prowl's frown deepens, "earlier this week, I did ask him whether he was actively avoiding me, and he said no."

Even now, after days spent turning Ironhide's words over in his mind, Prowl still doesn't understand why Ironhide would lie to him.

In the rec room, Sam and Bee are still playing, and Bee is still losing. "Really, Bee," Sam says as he snipes Bee easily, "your hiding places suck."

"If you can't see me, I can't see you," Bee repeats stubbornly.

"Except when I can."

"Right." Bee sighs, drops his controller in his lap. "Wonder if Prowl's found Hide yet," he flops back on the couch, casts a glance at Sam, who shrugs.

"If he hasn't found Hide yet, maybe Hide doesn't  _want_ to be found, you know?"

"Yeah…" Bee shakes his head, "Prowl might not pick up on that… he's like… like…" he pauses for a moment, concentration written all over his face, "like Spock," he declares finally. Sam hides a smile.

"Prowl?"

"Yes. Prowl is our Spock. He doesn't… understand emotions and things, sometimes. He's super loyal and really, really smart, but still, some things go over his head."

"I see. And who would be Kirk, then?"

"I don't know…" he sinks further into the couch cushions, deep in thought.

Maybe nothing's ever gone right because there's no captain.

"Optimus?" Sam guesses, but Bee shakes his head no.

"I dunno, I just can't see that… Kirk breaks all these rules, just for his crewmembers, but… Optimus would… has… I mean, I know it was only once, but it was- just-"

"What?" Sam asks, and Bee sits up to make sure the room is empty before sinking back down and staring at his hands.

"He separated for sparkmates for the sake of duty," he says quietly, "he forgets we can't all be as noble as him."

 _What have you given up,_ Sam wants to ask and can't,  _what's been stolen from you?_

O0o0o0o0o0o

Sunstreaker is sulking outside the medbay when Jazz comes across him, holo-form and as striking as ever. Even the scowl suits him. "Hey, Sunny," Jazz says, getting a dark look in return. Sunstreaker tilts his head back to look up at Jazz from where he's sitting on a bench, long limbs splayed almost artistically. "Didja get kicked out of the medbay again?"

"Ratchet's busy," Sunstreaker's tone is barely restrained by binds of neutrality, "something about possibly being able to contact the Ark. I doubt it would work anyways."

"Well, not everyone's as pessimistic as you."

"Leave me alone." There's nothing but ice in his voice, impenetrable. Showing compassion has never been his skill; bots openly wonder why Sideswipe stays with him, and there's a rumour that's always circled around, through bots and cons alike, that he was once told he'd make a good decepticon. It's never been determined whether the speaker was an autobot or decepticon, but it's accepted as fact that Sunstreaker nearly tore him to shreds.

"I don't get it, Sunny. Why d'you hate me so much?" Jazz crosses his arms over his chest, looks down at Sunstreaker. "I really don't get it."

"I don't," Sunstreaker replies, such a vicious snarl that the words are false the moment he's spoken them.

"You act like you're jealous, or somethin'. And you've no reason to be," Jazz pauses, "I mean, if you're really his sparkmate." Sunstreaker tenses at that, jaw tight and hands clenched. "What?" Jazz studies him. "Was he supposed to say no?"

Sunstreaker says absolutely nothing, dissolves his holo so there's nothing left. Jazz isn't sure whether it's because Sunstreaker wouldn't otherwise have been able to restrain himself from attacking him or saying something, but Jazz hears what Sunstreaker snatched into silence with his disappearance.

_Yes, he was._

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

In the darkness, the ceiling is nearly invisible. Sam stares up into the blackness, struggling not to let memories replay themselves. It's like this every night. Something about the darkness calls back his mother's voice, his father's laugh, the layout of his bedroom, the tilt of Mikaela's smile. The most miniscule things repeatedly make his eyes well with unbidden tears, from the realization that the floor isn't the hardwood of the hallway outside his room, that his mother doesn't know what kind of coat hangers he has, that the soap smells different, that his father can't help him with fixing the desk chair.

Sam beats away the memories, going over the day in excruciating detail instead. It's far less painful. There was the droning lecture of his economics professor, the thin pages of the history book, the discovery of the e-book library that far surpassed the one with real books. There was Prowl's search for Ironhide, Ratchet's feverish working to contact the Ark because Jazz had heard that the Ark had been trying to reach them, Sideswipe's failed attempt at convincing Ironhide he had nothing to do with the stray baseball that had nearly shattered Ironhide's window, Sunstreaker's casual seduction.

There was Bee's mention of sparkmates. The thought has been with Sam all day, ever since he'd first heard about sparkmates.

"Hey, Bee?" Sam calls out before he can stop himself, climbing out of bed and going over to the doorway. Bee's sprawled on the couch that's almost as wide as a bed, and looks over at him.

"Weren't you asleep?" his caretaker tone creeps into his words.

"In a minute. I was just- I dunno, just wondering- uh-" now that he's here, actually asking, the words seem so much harder to come by. "You said Optimus separated sparkmates," he says instead. Bee nods. "Was it the twins?"

"No. Sunstreaker wasn't actually with us then." Bee frowns, "it's… I don't really understand all that myself."

"Oh." Sam pauses, forces himself to go on, "do you have a sparkmate?"

Bee's face darkens, and he looks away.

"Yes," he says quietly, "he- he's lost to me."

"Dead?" Sam's caught in the moments before his own heartbreak, seeing the sorrow on Bee's face. If he'd ever doubted whether he loved Bee, this would prove it, that Bee's pain hurts Sam more than his own does.

"Something like that," Bee is nearly inaudible. "Sam, I don't- I can't-"

"It's okay," Sam says hastily, "I just- sorry. I- yeah. Sorry."

Sam already lost the whole world once, and it was a death without release from pain. It was waking up to nothing, like being born of loss, forever haunted by the staggering need to go home, the deeply painful feeling that he is in the wrong time. It's knowing he will never go home.

Losing Bee hurts more.


	12. Chapter 12

"It's not possible."

"Would you stop saying that?" Ironhide snaps, glowering at Sideswipe. Sideswipe barely notices him, still staring at the monitors that covered most of the Engineering building's wall. "Look, the evidence is right there-"

"But- it  _can't be,"_ Sideswipe insists quietly, and Ironhide resists the overwhelming urge to throttle him.

"Fragging- look, Sides, okay? The monitor for the shields is right there, you can see it yourself. There are spots that are weakening. Internal firewall monitors are right there, see? They're decreasing in power. Got that?" The stress of the past few days is surely taking its toll on him, and he's certain that taking it out on Sideswipe is nothing short of cruel. Despite all the reasoning, Ironhide's still wrapped up in the anxiety stemming directly from his avoidance of Prowl, and Sideswipe is only making it worse, for no apparent reason.

"But that would mean someone's been- from the inside-"

"I swear to Primus, Sides, if I have to explain this one more time," Ironhide growls, "I will put so many dents in you-"

"But…it can't…" Sideswipe mumbles.

"It's the same thing as last time, so, yes, obviously, it  _can,_ and it  _has!"_ He stops suddenly, freezing. "Oh, Primus." Sideswipe just looks at him, looks so lost, and Ironhide suddenly wants to die. "Frag, Sides, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." Sideswipe turns away, heads for the door. "Weakening will probably keep going until we find the virus uploaded into the system." He pauses, head hung, and Ironhide doesn't know what to say, what he could possibly say. He's never known what to say to either of the twins, certain he's always misunderstanding, that they have something he simply can't grasp. "I'm gonna go keep Sunny away from here."

"Sides-" Ironhide calls out before he can leave, "is it… is it such a good idea? I mean- I don't- if it is-"

"I don't care if it's him or not," Sideswipe says, suddenly ice, "I really don't. But I'm not letting him take the fall for it either way."

"Sides." It's barely a demand now, just a plea, but Sideswipe turns suddenly, as if Ironhide has accused him.

"You don't  _understand,_ Ironhide," he spits, and just like that, Ironhide remembers what they always forget, that the twins are better matched than they seem, that one temper blazes clearly and the other flares up out of the dark, that no one knows which is more dangerous. "Blaming him would be hurting an innocent." Sideswipe is gone before Ironhide can ask.

Hurting an innocent- Sunstreaker, or the uninvolved, irrevocably attached Sideswipe?

No one knows exactly when they became so entwined that destroying one would break the other, but it's clear that it's not because they're twins. It can happen to any sparkmates, but it only seems remarkable for the twins.

Remarkable only in its spectacular disaster.

O0o0o0o00o0o0o0o

Ironhide can always tell when Prowl is upset. It's very hard, nearly impossible, for most bots to be able to tell, not that most put forth the effort in the first place. Ironhide has it down to an instinctual level. Regardless of whether he relies on the arch of Prowl's door wings or the tilt of his frown, Ironhide knows in any form. He's been avoiding Prowl for a week and a half, and Prowl has finally cornered him at the range. He'd thought Prowl wouldn't think of looking here, given his usual disregard for human weapons, and yet, Prowl's here, standing in the grass that outlines the dusty strip leading to the target.

"You lied to me." Prowl says this flatly, void of obvious emotion, full of emotion that Ironhide alone can hear, or so he assumes. He stares at the pistol in his hands, sets it on the table so his fidgeting is less obvious.

"Prowl…"

"I want to know  _why."_ That break would be obvious to anyone, and to Ironhide, it's Prowl falling to pieces. "You told me you weren't avoiding me, but you are, Ironhide. I haven't seen you in almost two weeks." He draws in a breath, looks down. "Did I do something wrong?" It's the dead conviction in his voice that makes Ironhide freeze.

"Of course not!"

"And yet…" Prowl lifts a hand in a question, "you can't stand to be near me anymore, going so far as to lie about the circumstances surrounding such. I just… just tell me why, Hide, please."

Ironhide stares out at the target down the field, so far away. He should have known Prowl would look here eventually; Prowl once mentioned he loves the blowing grass, the way it's possible to pretend this isn't the desert, that the grass isn't completely fake.

"Jazz," he finally says, doesn't look because he knows those grey eyes will be wide with some kind of surprise. "Everyone says your sparkmate is one of us, and- it's him, isn't it?" He wants nothing more than to leave, just run so he can't hear Prowl's answer, hide from his  _yes._

"Why would that matter?"

"Because," Ironhide forces him to look at Prowl, but sees only confusion on his face, "I wanted it to be me." The way Prowl gapes at him, Ironhide can't tell what sort of shock he's feeling, whether he's astounded Ironhide feels that way, whether he never saw it coming.

There's no doubt in his mind, though, because then Prowl kisses him, and it's like realignment, like calibration.

Like becoming one.

O0o0o0o0o0o0

Some part of Sideswipe never wants to forgive Sunstreaker. He wants to blame his sparkmate forever, for ruining and destroying and breaking, but it's impossible. Blaming Sunstreaker would be blaming himself, because if he wasn't there, Sunstreaker would never have done anything.

Sunstreaker is like this because of  _him._

"You broke a lamp," Sideswipe points out, raising his head from Sunstreaker's neck. They're sprawled on the couch in their apartment, Sunstreaker's flailing arm having sent a lamp to the ground.

"You bring out the worst in me." Sunstreaker gasps when he starts in again.

It terrifies Sideswipe, that this may be true. That he needs Sunstreaker too much to stop, letting him unleash so much just to that Sunstreaker won't stop being  _his._

"Yeah, me and everyone else in the universe," Sideswipe growls.

"Some bots would appreciate it I'm sure." Sunstreaker references this sometimes; Sideswipe knows he's one of the only bots to know that the circulating rumour is cold fact. Sunstreaker, he suspects, never got over it. Not that he let Sideswipe in on how he felt.

"Like they'd want you," he yanks hard on Sunstreaker's shoulder, moving him onto the middle of the couch, where he writhes and growls. "Who would?"

Sunstreaker's never been very good at this game. Sideswipe can see it, see that there's something a little hurt in his eyes, even if Sunstreaker has, so many times, point-blank denied it.

"Better than having you," Sunstreaker snarls in his ear, and Sideswipe knows he doesn't mean it. That's the problem, every time- Sideswipe knows. Sunstreaker can't seem to grasp that.

"I'm sure," he replies sharply, but slows up in the feverish movements, kisses Sunstreaker more gently. "C'mere."

"What." Snappish and biting, but maybe there's a breath of relief there somewhere. Sideswipe just pulls Sunstreaker into his arms, kisses him like a breath.

"Just. Wait." He strokes his fingers through Sunstreaker's hair, tracing his jaw. Being upset with him, letting all his anger spill from his lips has never helped as much as he's always hoped it would. There's always that secret part of him that hates Sunstreaker, but this never works, because the only one he really despises is himself. Sunstreaker is just conveniently the same, if only more rage-inducing, as he showcases all the ways he takes Sideswipe's miserably intolerable qualities and makes them almost likeable. Sunstreaker falls silent in his lap, tilting his head to meet Sideswipe's lips. They share vanity, something Sunstreaker makes as admirable in its confidence, and share a hair-trigger temper, although Sunstreaker's bluntness with his makes it seem less underhanded, less traitorous. Hating his faults is understandable, but Sideswipe can't stand his virtues.

It's worse, knowing he hates Sunstreaker for being loveable.

"What?" he whispers, as Sunstreaker's arms wind around his neck, light kisses pressed to his jaw. It's almost foreign, almost cruel, because they used to be like this. He still hasn't forgiven Sunstreaker for that.

"You weren't-" Sunstreaker breathes, but never says the rest. "Nothing." He turns his face against Sideswipe's neck. "Prime's checking Engineering security, isn't he." There's no question there, none at all. Sideswipe just nods. "You're keeping me away, just in case. Because you don't know."

"Sunny…"

"I'll stay," Sunstreaker says, as if that's what Sideswipe is worried about, when they both know it isn't.

"I was working in the medbay today, because Ratchet was trying to repair communications again," Sideswipe says abruptly, pulls back to stroke a hand down Sunstreaker's face. "Organizing corrupted data banks and everything. A long time ago, they did studies, about sparkmates." Sunstreaker just looks at him, silent like he doesn't have to speak, like Sideswipe has the words for both of them. "About whether a bot will be able to live, if his sparkmate dies."

"And?"

"They never got past the proposal stage, because it's too hard to test." Sideswipe studies his face carefully. This human form they have, more than a hologram, it makes it harder to hide emotions. It's no surprise that Sunstreaker has mastered doing so anyways.

"I think they can't," Sunstreaker says, surprising him. "Not in all cases. But, I just… think they can't live, if their sparkmate is gone. I think they die."

"Why?" Sideswipe asks, but kisses him so he can't answer. He already has answer enough, always has, even though he's never been able to accept it.

 _Because,_ he thinks, spark breaking a little more,  _because you did._


	13. Chapter 13

The sun hangs low in the sky, sinking the hillside into a golden slumber, a wash that entices all caught to resist the urge to move. The Camaro is parked to overlook the shallow valley below, where the grass trails off and collects shadow.

This, here, feels like home.

Sam can almost forget everything else beyond this sphere, because here, he's safe, sitting next to Bee on the hood of the Camaro, where all he has to do to pretend he's home is only think within this moment. Other days, this is comforting, but lately, Sam can't even expand his attention to include this piece of familiarity. All he can think about is what he's holding back from telling Bee.

Ruin is an inescapable force. More than anything, Sam's terrified that if he says the wrong thing, it will trigger a disaster that will never cease. The worst part is the calm before he says anything, the fact that Bee doesn't know, that he has no idea what Sam's thinking.

"Sam?" Bee nudges Sam's knee with his, "what's up?" Sam had nearly forgotten; Bee does know what he's thinking. He can read Sam easier than anything, and that makes Sam feel like he knows Bee as well.

Except he doesn't. He can see the torment Bee's suffered through, but he doesn't know what it is, doesn't even know if it's his fault. There's another century between them, and Sam can't even remember what happened in their last days together.

"Please," Bee says, like he's promising Sam won't destroy him, and Sam can't do anything but believe him.

"I-" A thousand things race through his mind, everything he could possibly say that would be so much safer than this. "I just- I wanted to tell you-"

Bee's watching him, amber eyes calm, and there's a ghost of familiarity. It would be comforting, if only Sam could remember, if only he knew what, if anything, came next. His last memory is of Bee, wholly consumed by emotions he hates that he forgot, but Sam doesn't mind that he once forgot it because he remembers it now. He always wants his last memory to be of Bee.

"I- I don't know what happened since- since what I last remember- but then and- and now-" Sam stares down at his hands, can't take the fragile curiosity on Bee's face, "I just love you."

Nothing feels quite so familiar, so incredible and so right as when Bee leans in close and kisses him. It's bridging a chasm, crossing a century, and the feel of the sunset is old while the city behind them is new, and all Sam can feel is Bee. Bee's everything he's ever known and everything new to discover. All Sam needs to know is the way Bee tastes, the way Bee fits against him like they were designed for each other, and for the first time, memory is nothing and time infinite.

"Sam," Bee whispers. Just like always, there's a whole story of words reflected in his eyes, as he smiles and looks less sorrowful. "I love you."

It sounds like, maybe, this is the story.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00

The sound of shots penetrates the air, like the sky is raining metal in a harsh, unforgiving crush of sound. Sunstreaker's smirking jeers and Prowl's curt replies drift over from in between the slashing paths of the bullets. Sideswipe watches them from his spot beside Ironhide, silent despite all the questions he hears in the silence. He's half surprised Ironhide isn't being more demanding, but finally ending up with Prowl has calmed him down considerably. He's even somewhat gotten over his grudge against Jazz, allowing the tactician to ask him endless questions about their work in the city with only mild impatience. Despite all this, though, Sideswipe can still hear the burning questions he refuses to answer.

"Interesting choice," Ironhide finally says, doesn't look over at him, "You couldn't really get farther from the Engineering buildings. Shooting range is pretty far out of the city, wouldn't you say?"

"What do you mean by that?" Sideswipe tries to fight the terse anger out of tone, hears himself fail.

"You're keeping him away from Engineering," Ironhide says, so blunt any other mech would flinch. Sideswipe is used to worse; this is one mere facet of his ruin. "Maybe you- maybe you shouldn't. Just let him do what he would."

"What good would that do?"

"If it happens again…" Ironhide pauses, a hesitation familiar to all mechs dealing with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "it'll mean he's lying to you."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sideswipe says, even though it's not true. Sunstreaker will keep things from him, keep silent when Sideswipe would beg an explanation, but he doesn't lie. Maybe he thinks it beneath him; Sideswipe wouldn't be surprised.

"How can you stand him?"

"Stand him?" Sideswipe scoffs.  _I do more than that,_ he can't confess, even though it's obvious, so obvious,  _I love him, I love him, he's my other half and I need him and I love him._ "I hate him."

"Doesn't make sense."

"You've seen how cruel he can be. I hate it." Sideswipe frowns, watching Prowl finish his round of shots, Sunstreaker easily outshooting him. "Now, imagine worse." The target falls, punched full of holes. "That's what I'm capable of."

Ironhide is silent, no doubt assessing the truth to this statement. Sideswipe knows it's true. He knows what the other mechs think, what they choose not to see. There's an unfairness that defines them; Sunstreaker is violently short-tempered and vain to the point of arrogance, and mechs take the ever-displayed personality and choose to despise it. It's easier to pretend Sideswipe's temper doesn't exist when it only shows up on occasion, easier to forget that he offers nothing of himself. It's effortless to hate Sunstreaker, and hating the sparkmate who puts up with him seems, on the surface, like hating a saint.

"You hate him for being- for being you, but better." Ironhide stumbles over the words. Sideswipe can understand why. Ironhide and Prowl are like all those other sparkmates, loving each other for their virtues. They are nothing like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who hate each other for being lovable, love each other for being insufferable. "So how do you know when something's wrong?"

"Easy. When he hates me for me."

It always sounds terrible when put into words. Sometimes, Sideswipe wonders if it means what they have is nothing, if it's nothing but pain.

He tells himself it's simply not meant for words.

Ironhide is right, of course. Sideswipe is keeping Sunstreaker away from Engineering, setting himself up for possible devastation. Sunstreaker is as inexplicable as he's ever been, torturing Sideswipe by responding to this lack of trust with a rarely seen adoration. It's as if he aims to punish Sideswipe, showing how wrong he is to suspect.

Sideswipe doesn't really know what to think anymore; maybe he's never known.

Sunstreaker won in the shooting contest against Prowl, predictably. He's always been one of their best fighters; sometimes, it seems like he's only allowed to stay with the Autobots because of his superior fighting skills, and because if they lost him, they'd lose Sideswipe as well. Back in their apartment, Sunstreaker lies next to Sideswipe in bed, silent. Sideswipe has no idea what he's thinking; he hasn't been able to read Sunstreaker as clearly as he used to in a long time. He knows the exact day when they ceased to truly be one.

"Sunny?" he whispers, reaching for him. Sunstreaker doesn't flinch away from his touch, but leans into it, like something captivatingly beautiful allowing itself to be seen. Every precious moment with him feels like a shooting star, a dancing aurora, some phenomenon that is stunning and impossible to believe, to prove. There are things Sideswipe knows about Sunstreaker that no one else does, that no one else would believe. Sunstreaker hates his own hands. Too gentle, he scowls when Sideswipe points it out, that's good for nothing.

It's good for making Sideswipe fall that much more deeply in love with him, but Sideswipe never knows if he should ask Sunstreaker, if he wants to know, if that's nothing.

"Sunny?" he doesn't know what he wants. No doubt the answer is locked up with the memories he refuses to revisit. Sunstreaker mumbles something in return, already mostly asleep, but Sideswipe isn't sure he caught the words. It sounds like he said  _I'm here,_ but it can't be, because he's not, he hasn't been since the day Sideswipe walked away.

It's Sideswipe's greatest fear, that Sunstreaker's really been here all along, always been Sideswipe's other half. It would make things so much worse than they've always been.  _Always,_ of course, is something of a lie, but it doesn't matter. The time before all this, before learning what it's like to die and die again, it's almost like it never existed.

Sometimes, it feels like it existed only to hurt them more now, in this imperfect time they can't escape.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sam hasn't been able to sleep well in a while. It's never so much sleep as it is a recreation of memories, into twisted, unrecognizable versions of themselves. Tonight, it was his mother's voice that echoed in his head, admonishing him as if he were a child.  _Sammy, why did you go so far away? I told you never to go far away, didn't I? Now you've gone so far you can't come back home. Why didn't you listen?_

This wouldn't be as terrible as it is if he could only wake up remembering the exact sound of her voice. His memories were turned into data files, but only as clear as he remembered them. Human memories fade.

Beside him, Bee whimpers in his sleep, a sound like distress that cuts straight to Sam's heart. Some part of him corrects _spark,_ but that's not something Sam wants to think about, not now. Not at night, when everything seems hopeless and he can breathe only despair. Bee jerks away with a little gasp of breath, reaches for Sam like it's second nature.

"It's okay," Sam soothes, wrapping his arms around Bee, feeling his shaky breaths. "What did you dream about, Bee?"

Bee just looks at him, eyes sad in a way Sam hasn't seen so intensely in a while. "Usually it's of things that have happened," he says softly, more than he's let Sam know in so long. Sam leans in and ghosts a kiss across his lips, before Bee clings and kisses him again.

"I wish I could have met you there," Sam whispers, meeting Bee's gaze.

"Me too. In the good ones. I would have liked to have you there for real." He curls up against Sam's chest, like he's been designed to fit against Sam.

"The bad ones, too, Bee. I could have saved you." This is met with silence, even as Bee holds onto him tighter.

"You could," he says, a broken gratefulness to his voice, "but, oh, Sam. I wouldn't want you to remember that."

"Did- whatever it is, did it happen to me?" Sam asks, but Bee shakes his head no quickly.

"I mean- I don't want it to even be a memory for you." He says nothing more, falls back asleep before long.

All these glimpses at the memories that are missing never fail to both intrigue and terrify Sam. He can't truly tell whether Bee mourns for whatever it is that has been lost, or whether he's suffered through something terrible. More than anything, Sam wants to ask, but the last thing he wants to do is hurt Bee.

The wait won't go on for much longer. There are still two or three surgeries planned; by the end, he will have regained all his memories. It will be in his last days as a true human that he'll become wholly himself again, before becoming something else entirely.

Sam would be terrified, if Bee wasn't going to be there with him at the end, and also at the beginning.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ratchet is used to having bots loiter around the medbay as he works, but having Optimus there is nerve-wracking. It has something to do with the calmness he exudes, more to do with the fact that there's a whole world of things Ratchet won't allow himself to say to Optimus. When he nearly slices the cable he's working on in half, again, he finally gives up.

"Is there something I can help you with?" It's as close to snapping Optimus as he'll get. Optimus just looks at him.

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking," he says mildly. "The Engineering incident is troubling."

"Yes," Ratchet admits begrudgingly, "although I suppose it's better we know who to suspect."

"That, I find, is almost worse." Optimus frowns slightly; Ratchet isn't surprised. Optimus has always had a steadfast way of believing the best of his comrades, even when, in Ratchet's opinion, it's more foolish than anything else.

"Does anyone care if it  _was_ Sunstreaker?" Ratchet snaps, "No one would be surprised. All that really matters is that he'll hurt Sideswipe in doing so. It's always like that." The last thing Ratchet wants is to discover that their suspicions are true, that Sunstreaker is to blame, but he can't say it's out of a genuine want to believe in Sunstreaker's loyalty. Ratchet wouldn't be particularly shocked to find that Sunstreaker had betrayed them. Doubtlessly, all the other bots would likewise mourn only the pain it would bring to his helpless sparkmate.

"True." Optimus has a sad, thoughtful tone to his voice, one that Ratchet used to believe meant he would always keep their best interests at spark. "I believe that is where, long ago and quite irrevocably, we failed Sunstreaker."

"He would be no different either way."

"I've always wondered that." Optimus leans back against one of the tables, calm gaze still on Ratchet. "If, given different circumstances, Sunstreaker would be different."

"What possible circumstances could be influential enough to change him?" Ratchet asks, even as he already knows the answer before finishing the question.

"Sideswipe," Optimus says. "If there was no Sideswipe, would Sunstreaker be better, or worse?"

"We already know the answer to that. Without Sideswipe, Sunstreaker was-"

"Gone," Optimus says softly. "I remember. But that was different. I suppose we'll never truly know whether they improve or worsen each other's dispositions."

"I can't see Sunstreaker being beneficial to Sideswipe in any way." This makes Optimus look at him, something like confusion in his optics.

"You surprise me in your disapproval, Ratchet."

"I know what it's like, depending on a sparkmate." This almost leaves him wavering, but he's learned, by now, to fight past memories. "I can't imagine having someone so unstable. Your sparkmate is- rather an extension of yourself. Like trusting half of yourself to someone else. For Sideswipe to rely on Sunstreaker so deeply- the potential for destruction is overwhelming."

"You were-" Optimus pauses, hesitates in a way Ratchet has rarely seen him do, "you were this close to him?"

In the beginning, Ratchet used to resist this reference, this way of saying  _him_ like everyone was scared of his name. Over time, though, he clung to his name as if it were a promise that they'd be reunited, as if saying it aloud would shatter some fragile connection between them, one he'd have to rely on to find his way home.

"Ratchet- if I'd known-" It's all he needs to say. Maybe all Ratchet has ever wanted to know was that it hadn't been intentional.

Even as he is given the gift of the ability to truly believe the best, alarms are going off, defenses are failing, shields are dissolving.

The world is ending.


	14. Chapter 14

Sideswipe has a recurring dream and recurring nightmares. It's one of many things he won't admit to Sunstreaker. There are always very few variations. In the nightmares, he's always begging Sunstreaker to understand, pleading  _I never left, I didn't, I've always been here and I've always been yours._ Sunstreaker always says the same thing, so broken,  _you never came back, you're not even here now._ Sometimes Sideswipe can't even find him, just searching this planet and the next and the next, and sometimes Sideswipe argues, screaming his defenses, but Sunstreaker never hears him. Sometimes Sunstreaker just cries. Those are among the worst. The nightmares are extensions of memories, a torment he feels he's deserving of. The dream, though, tears into him in a way the nightmares never could.

In the dream, Sunstreaker is leaving him, two steps from walking away. In the next instant, there's a mech Sideswipe doesn't know, carrying something small in his arms, and he stops Sunstreaker at the door, hands something to him. The mech disappears, and something dark and impenetrable between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker does too. Sunstreaker holds two tiny sparklings, and when he looks at Sideswipe, it's like they're still in that perfect time, the one neither of them seems able to remember. It's where they belong, though, it's so obvious, it always is, from that look on Sunstreaker's face and the way Sideswipe's spark just melts, it's where they belong and they're finally home.

"They're ours," Sunstreaker whispers, "we lost them, but they're back now. They're back now. It's okay." Sideswipe knows then, knows like he once thought he did, that Sunstreaker's going to stay, he's never going to leave, he's going to stay for him, for their sparklings.

Sideswipe can't even believe in his dreams that Sunstreaker will ever stay just for him. He wakes up feeling empty and stranded. Sunstreaker sleeps beside him, still and tense, tangled in the bedsheets. His human holo has always been unreasonably gorgeous, like it's simply the element he exists in, breathing in beauty. Sunstreaker's fist is clenched in the pillow, his jaw tight. Sideswipe has never asked what he dreams of. He's always wondered what it'd be like, if they shared not only emotions and memory fragments through their bond but dreams as well; he isn't even sure if he wants to know. Sideswipe has always had the haunting suspicion that he couldn't handle everything Sunstreaker goes through.

There's always been the guilt¸ that he's the half that got let off easy, that he's the one who hasn't suffered nearly enough. Maybe that's why he's Sunstraeker's other half- Sunstraeker _is_ his flaw, his fault.

Sunstreaker's words from last night still echo in his mind, as Sunstreaker nuzzled against him and made him think that, maybe, they never left that perfect time.  _Why do you always kill me like this,_ Sideswipe had murmured, and Sunstreaker had only looked at him for a moment.  _I never could,_ he'd finally whispered back,  _you're my other half. I'd die too.  
_

It worries Sideswipe, that if Sunstreaker someday falls apart, that he'll feel it, that he won't be able to save them, but even more, he worries that something in Sunstreaker has already died and that, somehow, he didn't feel it. Sideswipe knows that, already, he has failed Sunstreaker. Sometime along the way, hope for becoming whole again turned into a mere wish to know where they went so terrible wrong.

[Sideswipe?] Prime's comm. resonates through his mind, [could you report to Engineering as soon as possible?]

[Right away,] Sideswipe sends back. He lingers for a minute more, to brush his lips over Sunstreaker's cheek and wonder if Sunstreaker could feel his touch. One last look, and then he disappears.

Sideswipe finds Prime outside the main room of the Engineering complex, and before he can puzzle over the roar of activity from inside the room, the look on Prime's faceplate stops him short.

"What happened?" he asks, even as he wants to beg, plead,  _don't tell me, don't make me know._

"Half the shields are down," Prime says, something dangerously like sympathy in his voice, but Sideswipe doesn't want that, doesn't want to need that, "the decepticon signal monitor is completely dismantled. The security system was hacked."

"No," Sideswipe is pleading now, wants to fall to his knees and sob, "he was with me, he was with me-"

"The complex records Autobot signals," Prime says softly, "Sunstreaker was the last bot in here, and only we have access to this system. This time- I can't believe he's innocent, this time."

 _You didn't believe it last time, either,_ Sideswipe can't say,  _it's always like this._ It's not, though, not exactly like this. He's never been on the verge of losing Sunstreaker quite like this.

"It can't-" he whimpers, "I can't be wrong about him."

Prime says nothing, as if he knows an apology would only confirm what Sideswipe already knows.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_"I just… I love you, Bee. That's it. That's what I wanted to say." Sam wasn't expecting the radiant smile he received, hadn't expected Bee would light up like Sam had given him a reason to live._

_"Sam, Sam…" Bee reached for him, gentle hands twining with his, "I love you."_

O0o0o0o0o0o

At first, Sam thinks he's remembering the present, and there's a momentary feeling of relief, that he's finally caught up, that there are no more years left forgotten between them. It's only once he's waking to see Bee's concerned amber eyes on him that he realizes.

He's remembering more of their past, and he only thought it was the present because what happened so recently  _already happened before._

"Bee?" Sam manages, stares at Bee as something chilling races through him, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Bee looks more afraid than anything, something he can't quite hide on his face.

"Bee," Sam says slowly, "we used to be together just like we are now, weren't we?" Bee bites his lip, looks down. "And you didn't tell me."

"I didn't-" Tears well up in Bee's eyes and he blinks them away, succeeds only in looking miserable despite his efforts, "I was scared you wouldn't feel that way anymore. I didn't want to force you to feel a way you couldn't remember, I didn't know if- if you still- I mean, you forgot about me, so…" He wipes away tears with his wrist, turning away. Sam catches his hand, squeezes his fingers.

"I'm sorry I forgot, Bee," he says quietly, "I don't care that I forgot the whole world, the thing I really wish I always remembered was you. I didn't- I didn't know-" Didn't know Bee had been living in an entirely different world from him all along. Didn't know that he'd forgotten everything that had ever happened between them. "I'm sorry," Sam whispers, "I hate that I did that to you."

Now that he remembers, it seems impossible that he could  _ever_ forget, that he had absolutely no recollection at all. Everything- from the first time Bee kissed him, to every day they spent together, to that time when they lay in the dark and Bee whispered  _I love you_ in his ear and meant it more than Sam had ever thought anyone could. It's part of him, it defines him, and somehow, somehow, he forgot it all.

"It's okay," Bee smiles, leans in to kiss him, "you're back now, it's okay, it's okay…" he kisses Sam like gratitude, like finding that his entire world, once thought lost, is completely intact, has merely been hidden from him, kept safe and far away.

Sam knows what it's like to lose the entire world. Never before has he been able to see someone get their whole lost world back.

It's the breath that saves him from drowning.

Oo0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sunstreaker left the city as soon as he heard that the security systems hack in Engineering had been discovered again. It doesn't take long before even the lights of the city have faded from view, no time at all to go far enough that the radar scanners won't be able to find him. It's only when he can see mountains on the horizon that he stops. He can never hide, never, but he can run fast and far enough that he can live in the time before everything else catches up.

Everything is always his fault.  _Even- that-_ Sunstreaker hates to think about it, but there's nothing else, nothing besides the frosted feel of the sunlight and dark, jagged line of the mountains in the distance. He's been alone so many times, and yet, it never fails to feel just a shade different each time. Solitude always finds a new way to manifest itself, like a virus that can never be beaten because it adapts, changes, forces its way in despite all defenses thrown up against it. Sunstreaker always tells himself  _that_ wasn't his fault. He tells himself it was Jazz's, but that's impossible, because he had nothing to do with the last day Sunstreaker was truly whole.

Sunstreaker was the one that sent Sideswipe away.

It was never because he didn't love Sideswipe. Sunstreaker loved him more than he could ever have possibly expressed, and maybe even all they shared between their bond couldn't communicate that, because Sideswipe didn't say no. When Sunstraeker told him to leave, Sideswipe didn't refuse. It would have been Sunstreaker's saving grace, and it never came. He proved, just like Sunstreaker has always known, that they can't be true sparkmates. Sideswipe is too good for him. Sunstreaker knows, has always known, that he will ruin Sideswipe. He wasn't good enough, and watching Sideswipe with Jazz had seemed only to prove the belief. Seeing Sideswipe with someone else, it was freezing in the agonizing pain before death, tearing out his spark and waiting for himself to die, waiting and knowing it was  _all his fault_.

Sideswipe came back to him. He came back before they rejoined the Autobots, before Jazz was killed, and still, Sunstreaker doesn't believe Sideswipe could have come back just for him. He failed Sideswipe too terribly for that, even counting only the misery Sideswipe is aware Sunstreaker is capable of inflicting. If he were to know everything Sunstreaker has done to him, Sideswipe would never forgive him. Would cross the universe only to live far from him, where Sunstraeker can't hurt him anymore.

Part of Sunstreaker hopes that, somehow, they aren't true sparkmates, because then, it would be harder for him to hurt Sideswipe so deeply. He hates that it's the deep pain he causes his lover that proves their bond. They can never be anything but a perpetual destruction, a constant breaking, and it's entirely his fault.

As the sun drowns in the horizon, the light vanishes, as if the sun breathes it all in, last gasping breaths before the world goes dark. Sunstreaker always wishes he could escape the memories, even during daylight hours, but he is no safer in the light than he is in the dark. He can never escape because he'll never be forgiven.

For as much as he failed Sideswipe, he failed  _them_  even more, failed them irrevocably, unforgivably, with a finality that has destroyed him. Sunstreaker has no hope left, knows he will never be whole again. He can still hear their screams, the harmony to his own silent cries, an entire symphony of despair no one will ever know.

He can still hear them.


	15. Chapter 15

Sometimes, it feels to Bee like the world is just one disaster after another. There are good things littered in between, and then there are the things that stop the whole universe for a perfect moment, things like meeting Sam. Everything is just for a moment, though, Bee's seen this again and again. He had Sam and loved him, and then Sam was gone, ripped away from him for a century, and it felt like living after he should have died. And now, now Sam's finally back, Sam's come all the way back to him, but even this is going to end. Bee can't voice anything as he walks alongside Sam on the way to the infirmary to hear Ratchet explain the next-to-last operation to prepare Sam to be a bot, can't voice anything at all. In all this time, he hasn't had the spark to tell Sam something. He knows what's going to happen next. He can't do anything about it, because that's what he tried to do the first time, failed so terribly.

This, everything, is about to be over.

"You okay?" Sam asks, squeezes his hand. Bee nods, shrugs a shoulder, can just feel how unconvincing he is. He can't find anything to say, and before he can even articulate as much, Ratchet is beckoning them into the infirmary, already pulling up images on the wall-to-wall screen. Bee slumps in the chair next to Sam, eyes on the image of Sam's spark. It's almost odd, that it appears whole.

Bee doesn't listen, can't, as Ratchet explains everything. He hears terms that are sickeningly familiar,  _metalloid rejection, system realignment, replace, restore, improve,_ and  _risk, risk, risk,_ so many times it's like it's become the heartbeat to their world. Sam only asked once, so long ago, if he had to do this.  _Do you want to live?_ Ratchet had asked, and even now, Bee wonders if maybe he was honestly asking, maybe he was giving Sam permission to give in. Sam didn't reply, an assumed affirmation, but maybe, maybe, seeing all this, maybe he meant no and thought it was obvious.

It's only once they're back in Sam's apartment that Bee can find any words at all. "I wish you didn't have to do this one," he says softly, watching Sam sorting through a stack of textbooks.

"Why this one in particular?" Sam asks, and Bee shrugs, can't explain anything at all.

 _I just want time to stop here,_ he wants to beg,  _this time, I want to just stay here forever._ If only they could live here, suspended between what has happened and what will happen, if there was a way that this could last, then maybe they could too.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

After seven hours of working in Engineering to try and facilitate some sort of damage control, Ironhide wants nothing but to recharge. Recharge, and Prowl, and nothing else. It's inexplicable, what's happening with the city's shields. Their decepticon signal tracker is starting to falter, and the wireless connectivity keeps blinking out. Ironhide still can't really, truly comprehend that it's  _Sunstreaker_ that did this, and some part of him won't believe it, but some part believes it far too easily. It makes him suspect that the part that believes the best of Sunstreaker is making the all-too common mistake of associating him too closely with Sideswipe. Sideswipe never would do anything to harm them, a quality that doesn't carry over to his sparkmate. It's a common fallacy, to assume they're one and the same, because they're so similar. There are basic differences, though, easy to overlook but so stark all the same. Despite everything, Ironhide still doesn't want to believe it, because it would mean, above all, that Sideswipe has been wrong to trust him, they've all been wrong to trust him, and betrayal by an autobot means that they will have nothing left in the world to rely on.

Through all this, their shields are weakening, leaving them vulnerable, susceptible, doomed.

When Ironhide gets back to his quarters, he's relieved to see that it's what exactly what he's going to get; Prowl is waiting for him in their berth, having been off-shift for only a short time but waiting to see him. The way his face lights up when Ironhide comes in is enough to make Ironhide forget everything else in the world.

"Any luck?" Prowl asks, as Ironhide gathers him in his arms. Ironhide shakes his head no.

"The shields just keep on failing. They stop for a while, we try to find the source, they start failing again… it's this slagging cycle!" he slumps down against the wall, presses a kiss to Prowl's helm. "Tell me something good. Please."

"Okay," Prowl curls in close to him, "I was thinking."

"I said good, not predictable," Ironhide grins. "But what about?"

"That… well, if you hadn't said something, I don't know if I would have been able to, to tell you that you're my sparkmate," Prowl says, something like shyness to his words, "saving us from a future without each other is the most courageous thing you've ever done."

Even if the entire world fails, Ironhide realizes, he'll still have Prowl. The universe can't fall apart if he has Prowl, because Prowl is his whole world.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Their defenses are still failing. The Engineering complex is in a mess of chaos, everyone frantic to find out why. Last time, everyone was saying  _maybe it's been turned off, maybe it's been shut down,_ but now, Sideswipe hears it every time, now it's  _maybe he installed a virus, maybe he did something,_ because no one wonders anymore. Every time feels like a personal affront, because no matter how everybot tries to distinguish them, maybe him and Sun are more connected than anybot knows.

Being connected to Sunstreaker can be more difficult than he'd ever thought imaginable.

"Sideswipe," Optimus's deep voice interrupts Sideswipe racing, stumbling thoughts, "are you going to be all right?" Sideswipe draws in a shuddering intake; the whirl of noises in the building, all the frantic energy, all the fear, compounds inside him, making something in him shaky with panic until he can barely stand to breathe anymore. He can't take this anymore, take the accusations towards Sunstreaker, the silence bots have around him, can't take hearing the whispers that he must be insane, loving a bot this terrible.

"I can't feel him," he blurts out entirely without meaning to, "I- I can't. It's like- like I lost him. I  _can't feel him."_ He wants to fall apart and sob, but Optimus just looks at him, so calm and steady.

"All I can recommend to you is to stay away from him," he says, but before Sideswipe can protest, goes on, softer, "but I know sometimes that isn't possible. And that doesn't make you insane, it just makes you his sparkmate and it makes you loyal." He glances around them for a moment, "maybe you should go find him."

Sideswipe supposes he will never know what's truly good for him, but all he can do is rush away, only one thing in his mind.

Sunstreaker is far away. Sideswipe knows this, in so many different ways. He finds Sunstreaker far from the city's limit, far away enough that if someone came looking for him, he would have had the chance to run or to stay and wait. He's in his holo form, sitting on the hood of his alt form.

"Sunny?" Sideswipe says softly, and Sunstreaker just looks at him.

"Remember when I told you I wasn't your sparkmate, that you should find someone else?" Sunstreaker says suddenly. Sideswipe nods, as if there is any question there at all. He can't forget; it's the day they started to break, the day something started to go wrong, something he couldn't see.

"Yeah." He edges closer, watching him. Sometimes it feels like if he were to ever look away, Sunstreaker would disappear, and Sideswipe would never see him leave.

"You weren't supposed to leave." Sunstreaker looks up at the distant stars, away from him, leaves all the emptiness there between them. There's always been something untouchable between them, something that hasn't always been there, and maybe, maybe this is. Before Sideswipe can say anything, say he thought Sunstreaker was making him leave, say he never wanted to leave, Sunstreaker glares over at him. "Well?" Sunstreaker snaps, "aren't you going to ask?" He's suddenly in one of those terrible, untouchable moods again, the kind that make Sideswipe glad he's in his holo form because it can't do as much damage. For one of the first times, Sideswipe can't really blame him. He climbs up on the hood beside Sunstreaker, looks over his spark mate in silence. Sunstreaker's glaring out at the sunset, all tenseness and anger, and it's all Sideswipe can do not to fall apart for him.

"What the frag do you think?" he matches Sunstreaker's mood instead of collapsing to his own.  _You weren't supposed to leave._ It reverberates in his mind, but he can't say anything, just can't, because it still feels like they're separated, there's some black hole between them, one he can't go near for risk of losing everything they have left, tempted by perfection to lose the little they've managed to hold onto.

It's in that half moment, when Sunstreaker looks at him, waiting, that suddenly, Sideswipe can feel him there again. He's there, in a flood of emotion and anger, an echo of pain across their bond, and it's not everything Sideswipe needs to know, but it's enough.

"I think that if you had half as much sense as anybot else, you'd ask. So are you going to ask?" Sunstreaker's already snarling and growling, but not yet insulting; Sideswipe can't figure out where they are on the scale of his temper. Maybe nothing's ever been this wrong before. "You should want to know if I did it. So? Ask."

"No." Sideswipe slips an arm around him, "I'm not going to ask."

"Ignorance is bliss?" Sunstreaker sneers, and Sideswipe reaches for his wrist, yanks Sunstreaker over to straddle his lap. Sunstreaker doesn't meet his eyes, just skims his thumbs over Sideswipe's upper arms. His hands are the gentlest part of him.

"Bliss is just  _knowing,"_ Sideswipe corrects softly, "I'm not going to ask because I don't need to."

"You already know," Sunstreaker says this coldly, so cold, but the way his eyes widen, fill with emotion he'd die before allowing anyone else to see, it's not cold, it's all the heat his name implies. So many times, Sideswipe has heard bots say that Sunstreaker is just ice, nothing at all, and he's never understood why he can't agree. Maybe they don't count anger as an emotion, maybe they can't tell the difference between what Sunstreaker feels, maybe they just don't know how to look.

"Yeah," Sideswipe says softly, "yeah, I do."

"Everything." His voice breaks, shatters, and then he's falling apart in Sideswipe's arms, and it's when he starts sobbing that Sideswipe knows the world is wrong. Sunstreaker buries his face in Sideswipe's neck, sobbing with no words, holding onto him so tight, it's clear that neither can ever really let go. There's nothing Sideswipe can ask, nothing he can say, which is more than he can possibly do. Some fleeting thought questions why it is that Sunstreaker only feels like  _his_ when everything is destroyed.

Maybe they were born of catastrophe.

The whole world is destroyed that night, and yet, every destruction leaves them stronger. Less alive, maybe, less trusting and less whole, but stronger. If the whole world is gone, anyone else would gain nothing from mere strength, but Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are different from the whole world.

Maybe, inescapably, they  _are_ catastrophe.


	16. Chapter 16

Something terrible is going to happen. Sam can feel it, so convinced it's like it's already happening, already a promise some dark world made to him and kept. It's Bee's anxiety that made it real, made Sam tremble with fear as he waits for Ratchet to come into the operating room. Medi-bots buzz around the room, little monitoring machines that hooked him up to the bot-IV, a process more like hooking up cables, then fixed the computers, arranged the instruments and then wisely hid them from Sam. Sam can hear his spark monitor's beeping, a quickened pace that worries him even more, which in turn, makes it go faster, this cycle he can't escape.

"Ratchet!" Sam bursts out, when Ratchet finally appears, his human holo form appearing at the doorway, datapad in hand. "Nothing bad's going to happen, right?"

"Of course not, Sam." Ratchet frowns at him, "whatever gave you that impression? Has anything bad ever happened to you at my hands?"

"Well... well, no. But Bee…"

"Do not allow Bumblebee's unwarranted anxiety to negatively affect you," Ratchet says, "he has no standing in the medical field, and no ability to correctly assess any medical risks."

"Yeah, but… he was really freaked out, so I just thought…" Sam says, but at least Ratchet's firmness is comforting.

"It is unwarranted. You'll be perfectly fine, Sam."

"Oh. Okay." Sam stares down at his hands as Ratchet checks the monitors. His hands are almost entirely metal now, so much of his skin is gone. "So after this, there's one more, and then you put me in a bot body?"

"Yes."

"So I guess… that'll be it, then. I won't be human anymore. I mean… if I am now, anyways." His throat closes up a little, and he has to choke out the rest of the words, "I mean, maybe I haven't been a human in a while, or maybe this is just the end of it, right?"

"Sam." Ratchet comes over to his bedside, and Sam focuses on him, not the blank whiteness of the walls, not the gray gunmetal of the monitors. "I want you to see something." He taps on the datapad, and Sam cranes his neck to see. A list of element rushes to appear onscreen, and Ratchet holds it out for him to see.

Hydrogen, nitrogen, Molybdenum, Maganese, Cobalt, Iron, Stontium, Silicon, Vanadium, Arsenic, Bromine, Selenium, Copper, Oxygen.

Another tap, and another list pops up beside it.

Iron, Zinc, lead, nickel, cobalt, silicon, tantalum, rodium, ununhexium, tungsten, neodymium, samarium, neptunium, nobelium, hassium.

"Do you know what each of these contributes to composing?"

"Uh…." Sam blinks down at it. Neither seem to form much of anything obvious.

"This," Ratchet points to the first list, "is a human. And this," he gestures to the second list, "is an autobot." Another tap, and several shared elements are highlighted. "Humans and autobots seem rather different, do they not? Despite these shared qualities?"

"Yeah."

"Sam, these are merely lists of elements. Reassembled, they could put together anything in the universe. What's the one thing they absolutely must have, to make a human or an autobot? The most important thing each possesses?" Ratchet looks at him expectantly, like the answer is obvious. Sam hesitates.

"A… like, a mind? Personality?"

"For which?" Ratchet asks, and Sam almost can't speak.

"Both," he manages, "it's the same for both."

"Precisely." Ratchet erases the list with a sweep of his hand. "What makes us who we are isn't tangible. You can't give it, you have to simply have it. Do you understand now? You're not becoming a bot, or losing the human part of you." Ratchet looks at him, unwavering, and Sam can't speak at all now. "You already are everything you ever will be. There is nothing more that anyone could ever give you, because within your personality, there's everything. You already have you full potential, the vastness of which cannot be measured, and all you need to do is achieve it. That is what makes anyone who they are. Do you understand?"

Sam nods, and Ratchet almost, almost smiles.

"Good. Now may I begin the procedure, or would you like to define anything else, like the meaning of life, or inform you as to why we're here?"

"Well, if you already know anyways-"

"Let's not discuss it, and say we did," Ratchet says; clearly Sam has rubbed off on him, and Sam falls into induced unconsciousness laughing.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It's like he's standing at the edge of everything, holding his breath and trembling, waiting for the world to end.

Bee can't do anything but wait, and it's all he's been doing for a century, maybe longer. Maybe he should have known he would have ended up here. He should have known that, again, their days would come to a close. He's known this so many ways already, knows that everything has its own ending and that it can't be avoided, it can't.

Before Sam went for the procedure, Bee kissed him, didn't tell him,  _this is it,_ didn't tell him,  _this is the last thing I'll have forever,_ didn't tell him,  _this is it, again._ He hates that he always knows before the world ends.

Waiting in the lobby, an hour passing and then another, Bee falls asleep. He dreams of the day Sam died. It's all he ever dreams about, because he can't sleep without reliving all the worst memories he has. Bee always has nightmares about the day he felt Sam die because this, terribly, unforgivably, isn't his worst, most painful memory.

0o0o0o0o0o

_Bee wasn't there when it happened. He would never be able to forgive himself for that, but he'd always known this was how it would happen. It would happen, someday, and he wasn't going to be there, because he made sure of that._

_The day it happened, Bee was working with Sideswipe on a fixing a monitor. Sideswipe was mostly silent that day, because Sunstreaker had been\ snarling at him that morning, and Sideswipe had screamed back, and that was always what bothered him the most. Bee didn't think he'd ever understand them, didn't want that kind of relationship, and, again, he caught himself thinking about what he used to have, not what he had now._

_At first, he thought the beeping was from the monitor before him. It took a fraction of a sparkbeat before he realized it was an internal one, it was_ _**that** _ _internal one, and it pulled him to pieces._

_"Sam," Bee gasped out, and Sideswipe understood the pain in the name, like so few others would, because he never really survived this either. Bee had monitors just for Sam, and they were crashing wildly, vitals spiraling out of control._ _**What happened, oh, Primus,** _ _Bee thought frantically, too stunned to move,_ _**his heart rate-** _ _He finally managed to get enough of a grasp to comm. Ratchet, screaming over the link, [Ratchet, Ratchet, it's Sam, something's happened to Sam!] Sam, so far away from him, back at home, where Bee couldn't so much as help him._

_[What's happening? Calm down, Bumblebee,] Ratchet comm'ed him back instantly, voice calm where Bee's was panicked._

_[Sam's heart rate, it's falling, it's falling so fast, it's like- like-]_ _**it's gone, it's gone, what happened –** _ _[Primus, Ratchet, his heart rate, it's gone-]_

_[I'm already nearly there, Bee, and I have him monitored.]_

_[What's happening?] Bee wailed,_ _**you have to be okay, Sam, you have to be, help him Ratchet oh please please help him-** _ _[Is he okay? Is he- why isn't he breathing? He's not conscious anymore, what's happening? Primus, Ratchet, is he- no, no, no!] It was like his whole world was converging in on itself, crumbling, breaking from within._ _**Sam, Sam, wake up, Sam! Don't leave me Sam, not yet, not now, please oh please oh please.** _

_[Bee, I will do all I can.]_

_[Sam's dying!] Bee collapsed down then, started sobbing,_ _**no no no no Sam no, not you, Sam, please Sam, no, no, no!** _

_He wasn't losing everything, because he had nothing. Losing the nothing that had once been everything, more than everything, was the worst. It was watching his whole world from a galaxy away, exploding into the dust that wouldn't make stars for light years, stars he would never, never see._

_Sam died on a beautiful autumn afternoon._

_0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo_

"It simply does not make sense." Prowl says this with such determined sureness that Optimus turns away from the sparking monitor to stare openly at him.

"I'm afraid I do not understand."

"That Susntreaker would do any of this," Prowl says, sweeping an arm out to indicate the deteriorating state of Engineering. Monitors have been offlining at breaking speed, systems shutting down from within, codes locking themselves up. "It is not logical."

"Prowl, I would like to believe the best of all bots, you know that, but sometimes-"

"To do all this, to betray us all, including his own sparkmate, he would have to feel no redeeming emotion whatsoever. He would have to have no ability to feel loyalty, comradeship, duty, and even if he were able to override those, to have done this, he wouldn't be able to feel guilt, regret, responsibility. For this to be conceivable, and for him to still have a balanced logic system like his monitors show, he would have to be incapable of emotion."

"Well, perhaps-" Optimus starts in uncertainly, hesitant, but prowl cuts him off sharply.

"I must disagree, Optimus. You agree, do you not, that for all this to be possible- this betrayal, and for the monitors of his system to show that his logic has not been unbalanced- he would have to be incapable of emotion? If he were able to feel regret for betraying us all so deeply, his logic systems would be badly off balance, overcompensating for guilt with justification. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Optimus allows, "but, Prowl, maybe he-"

"Sunstreaker  _can_ feel these emotions," Prowl insists.

"How can you be certain of something like that?"

"I've felt it," Prowl says bluntly, looking straight at Optimus, who freezes, "Iknowit for a fact, because I have  _felt_ it."

It's nothing he's ever dared share with any other bots, least of all Sideswipe. Not long after Sunstreaker returned to their team, he was injured in battle. His spark had been faltering, and Prowl, the only bot with him, had opened a sparklink with him, to feed his spark the energy necessary to keep Sunstreaker alive until the medic could arrive.

Sunstreaker had been too weak to keep up every firewall, but still strong enough to try frantically. Despite his panicked efforts, some emotion had leaked through, and Prowl hadn't dared question what he felt through Sunstreaker.

Prowl had never felt devastation such as that, the feeling of being broken, destroyed, taken to pieces and left, not to live, but to suffer, draw pain instead of breath. And the  _guilt._ The guilt had left Prowl nearly staggering under its force, its unrelenting intensity. Guilt like drowning, dying a little more painfully every moment.

To think that Sunstreaker  _lived_ with this,  _every day…_

The pain Prowl felt that day, Sunstreaker's, in all Prowl's lifetime, was matched only by Sunstreaker's guilt that same day. He never had, never would, feel something so intensely terrible.

"He feels guilt," Prowl says shortly, looking away, "more than any of us."

That single incident, that moment of shared pain, is why Prowl, despite what logic appears to say, believes the best of bots. A visual scan turns up nothing, nothing at all.

Memories of Sunstreaker's guilt and pain still haunt Prowl, and he has no idea what caused it all. To have experienced whatever caused it, whatever tore Sunstreker to pieces, destroyed him, destroyed everything, to have experienced that, Prowl thinks, would be to experience worse than death.

There's nothing Optimus can argue when Prowl says, "We barely know him."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_"That's never a good thing to hear," Sam said, nearly gaping at Bee. Bee fidgeted and looked away. "Talk to me about what?"_

_"I just… I think…" By now, Sam knew Bee more than well enough to know what he was feeling, but he'd never felt this before. Never felt Bee distancing himself, deeply upset. "Sam, I think… it can't work, I just don't think it can. You've got your whole life, you should find a human, and I've got millennia, being with someone that doesn't, it can't- it just can't work."_

_"So that's it, then. You've stopped loving me, and I'm not worth it anymore."_

_"Sam-"_

_"That's it. That's what you're saying."_

_"Sam, Sam-" Bee said, somewhere between hesitance and urgency, "Sam- What we had, that wasn't long enough-" maybe he was trying to save himself from something, maybe he was certain there was more to be found somewhere else._

_"So now, what, this is?"_

_"Sam-"_

_"I wanted this to be real. Maybe for you, this was barely anything in all your lifetime, but it's more than that for me."_

_"Sam... Sam, I'm sorry..."_

_Everything they had, it felt like what having a sparkmate was said to feel like. It was feeling whole, feeling complete, feeling like he'd found where he was designed to be, like he'd achieved what it was he was meant for, reaching a sort of divine perfection. It was shattering, to think that he'd been wrong, that this was nothing, that he was expected to move on and forget all this, that maybe Bee already had._

_To Sam, it didn't feel so much like his heart was breaking as burning, a complete destruction, turned into something unrecognizable and painful, and then fading, so completely devastated and destroyed that it turned into nothing at all._


	17. Chapter 17

Bee left him.

That's what happened before he died, what Bee hasn't told him- before he died, Bee  _killed_ him. Bee destroyed them, never explained why, and Sam lived without him for the year until he succumbed to the Allspark. And now, alone in his apartment, Sam remembers everything. There are no more voids in his memory, and now that he is complete, he feels like something inside him is crumbling to pieces, leaving something broken, unusable, like a bridge that has fallen through. He wishes he didn't have to remember this, but it's as useful as wishing it hadn't happened at all. It would have been easier, to remember Bee's logical, understandable reason, but Sam can't remember something that never existed in any dimension of the world they used to share.

The door closes softly, and Sam looks up to see Bee, who's staring silently at the ground, as if he's praying to disappear, disappear away completely.

"You never told me," Sam says, and the way Bee flinches, Sam can see he's been expecting this, dreading it. "Didn't you think it was important to tell me that you- you ended everything?"

"Because," Bee says quietly, sounding like he's in pain, "when you- when you didn't remember that, it was like… like getting a second chance, because that never- that never should have happened, never at all…"

"But you're the one that did it in the first place." All he can feel is a burning anger at the world, at the way things got this bad years ago, and then got even worse today. It's starting completely over only to suddenly have two endings that leave everything in ruin. "It didn't make sense then, Bee, and you know what? I still don't get it. You left me, and then when I forgot everything, you lied to me and pretended like you never did that!" Bee recoils a little, almost wincing, "you can't  _do_ this Bee!"

"I had to," Bee says, voice getting progressively quieter, amber eyes fixed on the floor, "I didn't mean to, but- but Sam, when you suddenly came back, everything- everything changed. After I left you, I had to feel what it was like, living with that. And then you came back, and it was like… like being shown what it would have been like, if I'd never known you the way I did. I was too scared to be with you- you, everything I've ever wanted, my  _sparkmate-_ because I knew I'd lose you, and then I  _did,_ and then you came back, but only to show me how much worse off I'd be if I'd never known you at all- and then, Sam, when you remembered…" he draws in a shuddering breath, "Sam, it didn't feel real. It felt like maybe, all that had never happened, like all that had been to show me how wrong everything could be. I couldn't… couldn't make myself lose you again. I know it was lying to you, but… but now that I understand that loving you always is more important than how much it would have hurt to lose you, I couldn't…"

"You can't undo what happened," Sam says, "you left me to save yourself, Bee, because to you, what we had was like a week in your lifetime, maybe even less. But Bee, to  _me,_ it was almost  _five years_ , it was already far too late for me to forget. You wanted to keep yourself from getting hurt, but you hurt me  _so much_ doing that!"

Now that Sam remembers, he can know for sure that this is how it felt. This, Bee's tears and his own breaking heart is how it felt, when everything ended.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The defenses have failed. Everything they ever had in the way of defense has vanished, dismantled by some elusive firewall that must exist, despite the fact that no one's been able to hunt it down. Sideswipe's spent hours digging through the wiring and the electronics, but he hasn't been able to find a virtual or physical block on the defense system anywhere.

"Find anything?" Jazz's voice comes from over his shoulder. Sideswipe shakes his head.

"Radar's shot to the pit," Sideswipe grumbles, "can't find the fragging firewall, can't fix anything, can't do anything at all-"

"It's okay," Jazz soothes, "I'm sure we'll fix it soon. After all, ya just gotta wait for a sorta- inspiration to strike ya." He leans over to scan what Sideswipe's been doing, frowns a little.

"I guess," Sideswipe mumbles, but he doubts that there'll be any inspiration coming his way. He hasn't been able to think about anything but Sunstreaker, about losing him, about never knowing him at all.

"Here, lemme take a shot at it-" Jazz says, stepping up to the screen. Sideswipe slides out of his way, doesn't so much as glance at the screen. "I have an idea-" there's a short blip of a sound, before Jazz starts fiddling with controls.  _You already know,_ Sunstreaker's voice echoes in his head, but he was wrong, because there's so much that Sideswipe doesn't know, so much he's scared he'll never find out.

Sideswipe doesn't hear it when a few humans start to scream, but he does hear when Soundwave tears apart a building. Then, the screaming comes from everywhere.

By the time Sideswipe reaches them, Ironhide is heaving Soudwave into the concrete, diving after him to pummel more dents into already bent and twisted metal.

"I thought the radar was working!" Ironhide yells to Sideswipe, as Soundwave makes a grating noise, trying to push Ironhide away. Humans flee around them, black smoke all around, like the world has decided to end, decided to start right here.

"Stopped this morning!" Sideswipe looks around for Optimus, spots him heading at breakneck speed for the broken part of the fence, because they couldn't deal with any more decepticons getting in. Already, he can hear another battle waging, sees Prowl for a fraction of a second, then hears the sound of a decepticon smashing into the ground. Soundwave flails an arm towards a car but Sideswipe crushes it into the pavement, looking up to Ironhide as he struggles.

"What're you here for?" Ironhide roars down at Soundwave, slamming him back against the street.

"What do you think?" Soundwave sneers, and before Ironhide or Sideswipe can move, he's flung them away, then run into a headlong tackle that catches Ironhide and crushes him into the nearest building.

"Engineering- it has to be in engineering," Ironhide grinds out, firing in Soundwave's direction, missing as Soundwave heaves a car at him. They've gotten tantalizingly close to rebuilding the compounds they'd need to piece Cybertron together in a way that'll last, repair disrupted magnetic fields and make their home the way it used to be, compounds that are a shade away from an unstable type of element the decepticons could only dream of.

Suddenly, Sideswipe's hit by an overwhelming  _fear,_ a wordless sort of panic that he can't find the reason for, a scream of hysterical fear- "Engineering!"

"What? Stop fraggin' standing there and help me!" Ironhide ducks a thrown truck and powers up his cannons again, "Sideswipe!"

"You can't stop us," Soundwave jeers, "it's not me you should be worried about."

"You're and that other con are the only ones that got by us," Ironhide answers, before his shot pounds into Soundwave's chest plates.

"No," Soundwave coughs out a laugh, "I'm the distraction."

"Distraction?" Sideswipe shouts, but Ironhide's already fired another shot, one that breaks through the last of Soundwave's protection over his spark.

They only have a moment, shrouded in smoke and standing over the decepticon's still body, before everything begins to collapse again. There's screaming, metallic and grating, and Sideswipe and Ironhide don't have to exchange a word, they both take off running headlong for the Engineering complex.

The building is all-but gone. The part dedicated to researching the compounds still stands, but walls are smashed down around it, higher floors swiped away, the streets around it shattered, all enshrouded in smoke and heat.

"What's happened? Where's-" Sideswipe only half turns, before a streak of movement catches his eye.

"No!" Ironhide yells, "don't let him,  _no!"_

The nearest building crumples, and Sideswipe can make out two forms in the black smoke. Jazz, struggling and fighting in vain before he's flung into the collapsing form of the building. And then-

"Sunny!" Sideswipe can't move, can't tear his gaze away, watches Sunstreaker fight in a way none of them have seen in orns. Recently, as the war's turned into evasion and attempts at compromise, toughliners have been reserved as last resorts. Sunstreaker's always been the best fighter any of them have ever seen, the best even when he's holding himself back. Ironhide and Sideswipe can only watch in a sort of horror as Sunstreaker unleashes everything he's capable of. Jazz is heaved into the ground like he's weightless, and then Sunstreaker's on top of him, restraining his arms and then-

"Sunny, you can't!" Sideswipe cries, but Sunstreaker doesn't seem to hear him. His fist bashes through Jazz's chest plates, and there's screaming, harsh, metallic screaming, and then there's an explosion of light from Jazz's chest.

It takes a few seconds for the haze to clear, and when it does, the devastation becomes clear, so total and so absolute, Sideswipe wishes he never had to see this. Jazz's limp body lies in pieces, his spark indiscernible from the twisted metal of his chest. Sunstreaker-

Sideswipe is at Sunstreaker's side in a sparkbeat, and he won't allow himself to recoil in horror at the sight of his sparkmate. He's almost as torn apart as Jazz, and Sideswipe never even saw what happened. Sunstreaker looks up at him, doesn't say anything.

"Sunny, Sunny, you have to be okay-"

"That's what you're worried about?" Sunstreaker chokes out, and it sounds like all his vocal cords have been severed, fraying and sparking, "I jus- killed your com -ade an- u're worried –bout me?"

"Sunny-"

"Move." Ratchet's gruff voice is suddenly right behind him, and he shoves Sideswipe aside before he can say another word. Ironhide pulls Sideswipe away, keeps a hand on his shoulder like a warning as Ratchet bends over the twisted wreck that Sunstreaker has become.

"Jazz is gone," Ironhide says quietly, "Ratchet can't help him."

Sideswipe can only watch in silence as Ratchet works frantically, can't find any words at all. The burning fires of the city are slowly being extinguished around them, the smoke starting to clear. Sunstreaker emits a sharp howl of pain, and in that instant, firewalls so old Sideswipe forgot they weren't natural are gone, completely gone. It's like a glimpse into something he forgot existed, a trusting vulnerability that used to be voluntary, not forced submission through pain so unbelievable, everything succumbs to it.

In that sparkbeat of an instant, all Sideswipe can hear is crying. In the silence, he's the only one that can hear the sobbing. Their sparkbond suddenly delivers to him in a rush everything he was never meant to know, tears he never saw and a pain he could never heal.

Again, as catastrophe stills into quiet devastation around them, there is an ending.


	18. Chapter 18

Ironhide is still in a numb sort of shock when he finally joins Prowl at the front entrance of the city, where they've been sent to start defense system repairs. Even Optimus had been detached, his directions trailing off into a mumble as he'd turned away, as stricken as any of them.

"You all right?" Prowl glances over his shoulder at Ironhide, door wings shifting slightly. He openly stares when Ironhide doesn't immediately answer. "Hide."

"Sun killed Jazz." He can't comprehend anything beyond this, can't so much as process it as accept it. It doesn't seem real, doesn't seem like it ever could be part of their reality, and yet here he is, facing his sparkmate and telling him that one of their comrades killed another. It's not real.

And the way Prowl looks at him, not so much disbelief as disappointment, nothing is real at all.

"That's it, then," he says, and Ironhide just looks at him. "Sun killed Jazz, so everyone's taking that at face value, is that it? Has anyone so much as  _considered_ asking why he did it? Has  _everyone_ merely- merely  _accepted_ that Sunstreaker simply  _decided_ to murder a comrade?  _No one_ questioned anything of it?"

"Prowl…" Ironhide says softly, because maybe Prowl doesn't understand, hasn't grasped it, doesn't realize that  _Sun killed Jazz_ really means that Sun tore Jazz to scrap metal, crushed his spark to an unrecognizable, smouldering wreck, a fury unleashed. He didn't have to see it, hear the savage scraping of metal and see the way Jazz was crushed into nothing.

"No, no, listen," Prowl insists, hands clenched into fists, "we don't even know him, Hide, not like we think we do. The way we think we should know him- it's wrong, it's all wrong. He's not what we think, but that's still what we're basing everything on- Ironhide, I  _know_ you'd never want to be a bad teammate, but that's exactly what everyone's been doing since we met him."

"Prowl, what in the universe could explain  _murdering a teammate?"_ Ironhide spreads his hands in a question, imploring.

"I don't know, but who's to say there isn't an explanation?" He looks at Ironhide as if expecting him to understand, to agree.

"I don't  _want_ there to be an explanation."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Jazz is dead, and Sideswipe thought it would hurt more. It doesn't feel like losing Jazz the first time, and it doesn't feel like losing him a second time should. Sideswipe is sitting at Sunstreaker's bedside and here, it isn't easy so much as involuntary, thinking about Sunstreaker more.

Him, and whoever it was in his memories, crying like they'd lost everything, a wail that didn't cease. And he  _hates_ the thought that Sun lives with this memory, and probably so many others, that hurt and hurt and hurt. He'd never known how strong Sunny was, how tortured and how hurt. It was unfair, that all this would happen to his sparkmate, that he wasn't even there to help Sunny. More than unfair, it's  _wrong,_ it's a flaw in the scheme of the universe. He's seen so many of these tragedies, in their deeply flawed world, and perhaps the most unfair part of it all is that fate never seems to learn from these disasters.

The sound of the medbay door opening makes Sideswipe look up, to see Ratchet watching him. "He'll be all right," Ratchet says, nodding down at Sunstreaker. "And in any case, he'd better be, because he's going to have to explain himself as soon as he's conscious." Sideswipe flinches at this.

"But he'll be okay," he insists, because this is all he can cling to, it's all he has and it's all he's ever had. Ratchet nods.

"Yes." There's an unspoken, forbidden  _unfortunately_ that lingers in the air after his words, that neither will address.

Sideswipe doesn't move from Sunstreaker's bedside even long after Ratchet has gone. Sunstreaker remains motionless, as still as Jazz's limp form on another berth, in a far, darkened corner of the medbay, barely discernable from the shadows.

When Sunstreaker finally, finally stirs, Sideswipe doesn't say anything, doesn't want to somehow let anyone else know he's back, wants to preserve the silence around them, just them in the world. Sunstreaker looks up at him, and he seems almost surprised to see Sideswipe there.

"I'm sorry," Sunstreaker whispers, so quiet, there isn't enough sound to penetrate the cocoon around them, swaddling them in so the world includes just them, no space for anyone else.

"For what?"

"Everything. Everything." Sunstreaker draws in an unsteady breath, and doesn't pull away when Sideswipe slips a hand into his.

"No, Sunny, it's okay, it's okay-" Swipe tries to insist, but Sunny shakes his head no. Before he falls back into sleep, he breathes, "don't forgive me unless I fix it." But

Sideswipe doesn't know what he destroyed, he just knows that somewhere, in the void between them, something is burning.

0o0o0o0o

Sam hates hospitals, but more than anything, he hates being  _alone_ in hospitals. The muted colours turn foreboding, and the closed doors suddenly seemed locked. Being led down a hallway has him turning for a last look over his shoulder, like he's never going to leave again. Sam is alone, because he is not with Bee.

This is his last procedure.  _We didn't even get this far,_ Sam thinks, and it hurts, to now remember that this isn't the first time he's thought that. He hadn't thought Bee would leave him; it was a shock the first time he found out, too. Bee left Sam to suffer the same fate he tried to save himself from, and ultimately failed.

 _What do you want me to do? What else is there to do?_ Bee's eyes had asked, and Sam hadn't known, he doesn't know, but he's positive that whatever the right answer is, it isn't  _this._ It isn't shock and suddenness, and it isn't finding out he's being left behind  _twice._

The voice he's always trying to ignore asks again and again,  _could someone who really loved me do this?_ because it's always doubted everything, because Bee used to seem too good for him, it used to seem so impossible, that it couldn't be happening. It was too good to be true, before it was too awful for it to possibly exist.

Soon, Sam is closing his eyes, knowing he won't wake up human. Once what he has inside is gone, he can't imagine that the outside will mean anything all. Nothing without the right composition is real.

Downstairs, Bee is alone in the hospital waiting room, because this is real love, because he can't imagine being anywhere else. No matter what they are, if they're anything at all, what he feels for Sam could never be gone, even if they both are, so, so far gone from each other.

This is real love, because nothing can destroy it, not even their own destruction.


	19. Chapter 19

_Everything is dark. He's completely immobile, as if he's never going to move from this spot again. There's nothing, nothing at all, the silence even reaching so far as into his own mind, his own thoughts still, empty, like there's a disconnect between himself and his mind._

_"I'm sorry." The voice is all there is, mournful and sweet, "oh, Sam… I never should have let you go through all this alone, I'm sorry."_

_All of time spins together, no definitive span of anything, and all he remembers are the voices that appear from time to time, sudden indicators that time has passed. In the beginning, there's his mother's voice, his father's, and Bee. After a while, he doesn't hear his parents anymore._

_Bee always comes back._

_"I never should have left you, Sam, it was so stupid, so stupid. I was just so scared of losing you after having so much time with you, I thought that would hurt more. But it doesn't matter, because that's what I did to you, and I never wanted to do that, I'm so sorry. I didn't, because I love you, I love you beyond all reason, because you're more important to me than anything. I didn't leave because I didn't love you- I hope you never think that, it's not because you weren't enough, it was just all my fault. I never stopped loving you. These are our last years on earth, and I only want to spend them with you, and if- if this works, if you could ever forgive me, I want to be with you forever, Sam. I was just- so scared, you were so important to me, I was afraid because I knew that losing you would kill me."_

_Sam can't keep track of anything but the words, the nothingness that spans between them._

_"You're going to be okay, Sam. And I hope- I hope that this is why you came back, to me. I hope this is a second chance, because it's the only thing I want."_

_0o0o0o0o0o0o_

Prime, for all his calm and confidence, looks something like uncomfortable as he stands in the medbay at Sunstreaker's bedside. Sideswipe watches Optimus from the other side, can't say anything at all.

"It was never Jazz," Optimus says, every word calm even as their meaning has caused so much destruction, "it was a con using his body, it was never Jazz at all." Sunstreaker just looks up at him, and Prime looks away, "I want to apologize to you, Sunstreaker. That should have been our first assumption, we should have assumed you knew something we didn't. Our first instinct should not have been to think you had betrayed us."

Sunstreaker had known. After they'd blamed him for the destruction of the defenses, he'd come back anyways, he'd figured it out and come back to save the bots that had no faith in him at all.

"I'm sorry, Sunstreaker, on behalf of all of us. Well, nearly all of us," Optimus adds, "there are bots who refused to believe it. Sideswipe and Prowl were the only ones who acted like true comrades to you. I'm sorry I didn't follow their example."

Sunstreaker has no response for him, and after Prime leaves, Sunstreaker looks to Sideswipe, as if for an explanation.

"Of course I didn't think you'd betrayed us," Sideswipe says softly.

"I wouldn't, never." Sunstreaker hesitates. "But there's still- after that-"

"I heard a memory you never wanted me to."

"But I did," Sunstreaker hesitates, "just never the way it happened. I think- you still should know. I should have told you. When- when we weren't together, and-" he pauses again, and it's all Sideswipe can do not to plead for the words he's been waiting to hear for so long, he's been  _waiting_ for this, even as he wishes he never had to know, that neither of them did.

"We had sparklings," Sunstreaker whispers.

It's the sealing truth to what Sideswipe has always known- when they ended, the entire world fell with them. Nothing that happened afterwards was right, nothing at all.

"I didn't tell you, and I'm sorry, I'm  _so sorry…"_ Sunstreaker forces out the words.

"Sunny, where… where are they? Now?"

"I thought they'd be better off somewhere else. Primus knows I can't even take care of myself, and sparklings- Swipe, I wish you had seen them, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… they were just so beautiful..." Sideswipe tries to find something to say that won't destroy them both, something that's not,  _how could you, how could you,_ not  _I'm so sorry I wasn't there, so sorry._

"What're their names?"

"Ecliption and Androxen," Sunstreaker says, and it's like it's breaking his spark, but now, Sideswipe knows that it has, it's their twins that cry in Sunstreaker's memories. "They were given to two other bots. Foria and Forger."

"Foria and Forger?" Sideswipe can't speak, can't breathe, "I met them, and I almost met their sparklings-" the memory tears at him now like it never did, meeting the two bots, each so perfectly deserving of the other, matched in sweet kindness only by the other, and hearing them gush about their baby sparklings, and almost meeting them; Sideswipe had ended up leaving early, and he'd never met their-  _his,_ oh Primus,  _his-_ sparklings. "But  _no, no,_ Sun, where are they now? Where?" Sunstreaker looks at him like he doesn't understand, and Sideswipe wants to cry. "Foria and Forger were killed by cons. They probably- the sparklings are probably with someone else, or at a sparkling home- they must be safe, I know it." The way Sunstreaker looks at him, though, there's doubt and there's fear, and it's everything Sideswipe is feeling.

"I want to find them. I- Swipe, I want them  _back._ "

"Me too," Sideswipe whispers, "I never even got to see them." To finally know everything is shattering, to know everything he's been wondering about, finally understand why Sunstreaker left and never truly came back.

The world can always break more- the devastation knows no bounds. It has the eternity of their love- endless, unstoppable, relentless, and uninhibited in its force to destroy

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

There's something wrong with the way Bee looks when Sam comes and find him. Surprise shouldn't be on his face, he shouldn't be shocked that Sam wants to talk to him, nothing that has happened should have. They're in a quiet corner of one of the rec building's bot-only floors, everything around them still and calm, right down to the sky outside the window, an endless grey.

"I remembered something," Sam says, and the empty look in Bee's eyes kills him.

"There was nothing else to remember," Bee says softly.

"Not exactly." Sam looks from Bee's face to the window, the impossible skyline before them. "I remember everything you said when I was unconscious." He doesn't see the surprise that darts across Bee's face, but he hears the choked noise and sudden intake of breath. "And I think- I think things ended badly, and being apart isn't the right thing to do."

The way Bee's eyes light up at his words is like Sam can somehow  _see_ every piece of hope that's been scattered around the universe, a sudden, obvious proof that it's  _here,_ that hoping isn't a pursuit of something that's not there.

"But I just- I have to know, why would you ever leave me"

"Because," Bee says, and when he looks at Sam, it feels less like the day they fell apart,

and more like the day they figured out they're nothing if they're not together. "I wanted to spend my last day on Earth with you, and if we were lucky, the last day in all the universe. I knew if that day came and you weren't with me, if I'd lost you- I thought it wasn't too late, I thought you can forget being in love with someone. But- but it  _changes_ you, and forgetting is like trying to turn back into someone you used to be."

"I know," Sam says, and something like shock registers on Bee's face, "I didn't feel like myself again until I remembered how I loved you. And I don't think I'm- I'm supposed to ever be without you, it doesn't feel right."

Bee doesn't say anything, just flings his arms around Sam and holds him close, as if to show that the next time something comes between them, he's not going to let go. All Sam can do, all he was ever meant to do and all he ever wants to do, is hold on tight to Bee.

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The bots' last day on Earth draws nearer, and with it comes the hovering promises, almost close enough to touch.

The very last night is a night of endings.

For Ratchet, the wait is over, as they enter the time when the truth will finally be revealed. Leaving Earth to journey across space, they'll find out what happened to the Ark's crew, and if he's ever going to be reunited with Wheeljack, it'll be now, and no matter what happens, the waiting is over.

Ironhide had never thought the day would come that they'd be able to return home, no matter how many times Prowl tried to convince him of it, and as he kisses Prowl and holds him, Ironhide can't ever doubt him anymore.

Bee wraps Sam in his arms in bed and whispers to him about everything they're going to see on Cybertron, in all its restored glory, and although Sam cries for the home they're leaving behind, it's the smile that comes after his tears end that assures Bee that they're both wholeheartedly going forward together.

Somewhere, lost in deep space, Sideswipe knows there's a place that holds Ecliption and Androxen safe. Somewhere, their baby sparklings are safe, and it's harder to imagine when he's never seen their faces, comparable in its agony to Sunstreaker, tortured with the memory of their beautiful sparklings crying for him as he walked away. Leaving Earth for the vastness of space, all Sideswipe knows for certain is that nothing will ever be the same.

The silence of the last night around them sings a requiem for the world they're leaving behind, the most beautiful melody a silent one, indiscernible from the last moment into the first, until sunlight spills over the first day, turning everything into a golden unfamiliarity.

The night is silent, gone, and the ending days have come to their inevitable, beautiful end.


End file.
